


All My Life

by Kit_Kat21



Series: Queenscrown [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family Fluff, Jon Snow is Not a Targaryen, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Lord and Lady of the Gift, Robb Stark is King in the North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-01-14 16:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18480211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_Kat21/pseuds/Kit_Kat21
Summary: “Why do I have to learn how to do this anyway?” Del all, but demands of her. “I need to know how to wield a sword. I won’t havetimefor stupid dancing.”“Because you are My Lord’s page and where he goes, you go. What happens when he visits another House and there is a feast and a pretty girl asks you to dance with her?” Sansa asks.A peek-in afterAll My Days.





	1. Dance Lessons

…

 

Del lets out a growl of frustration as he, yet again, steps on Sansa’s foot. He pulls himself away from her.

 

“This is stupid, My Lady!” He bursts out.

 

Sansa looks at him, her hands folded in front of her. It’s amazing, really, to her that for as frustrated the boy clearly is, he still remembers proper titles; not that she would be angry if he hadn’t. “You’re getting so much better, Del,” she promises him.

 

She looks to Amos, sitting in a chair by the fire, and the man stops his lute playing. Amos normally works in the stables, but once Sansa first found out that he had musical abilities, she had recruited him for Del’s first lesson with her and now, she always asks for him when she needs him. The man certainly doesn’t mind either. It is no secret that the people in Queenscrown and all of the Gift absolutely love their Lady and no matter the favor, they are all too eager to see it done.

 

Ethan sits on the floor next to Amos’s chair, his legs folded and his elbows resting on his knees, his hands in fists, beneath his chin. Nora, Sansa’s maid, sits in another chair on the other side of Amos, little Robbie sitting in her lap, all watching the lesson. Dorren is there as well – of course – laying on the other side of Ethan, letting out a great _Baa_ whenever Del steps his foot onto Sansa’s by mistake; as if he is a dance instructor, scolding his pupil for the wrong step.

 

“Why do I have to learn how to do this anyway?” Del all, but demands of her. “I need to know how to wield a sword. I won’t have _time_ for stupid dancing.”

 

“Because you are My Lord’s page and where he goes, you go. What happens when he visits another House and there is a feast and a pretty girl asks you to dance with her?” Sansa asks.

 

Del keeps scowling, but doesn’t seem to have a response for that. She can tell he’s trying to think of one though and she purses her lips together to keep from smiling outright.

 

“Have my other lessons for you been stupid?” Sansa then asks him and Del’s eyes come back to her. “When I taught you your letters or how to read texts, were those stupid lessons?”

 

Del pauses for just a moment before he shakes his head. “No, My Lady.”

 

“Then, you must believe me when I tell you that this isn’t a stupid lesson either,” Sansa says before giving the boy a smile. “Would it help if I showed you how easy this dance is? I think you are letting your frustrations get the best of you. Perhaps if you saw how easy it actually is, you will see how easy it is to learn and you will be able to perfect it within our allotted lesson time?”

 

Del thinks that over for a moment. “That might help,” he agrees and again, Sansa smiles.

 

“Go sit.” She puts a gentle hand on his back and guides him towards the fire hearth. “Ethan, do you remember this dance?” She asks her oldest son, though he’s only six and not old at all; at least not to her.

 

“I remember, mama,” Ethan nods quickly and hurries to his feet as Del goes to sit on the floor to watch.

 

Sansa smiles as he comes to stand in front of her. She puts her hands on her knees and bends so her eyes are even with Ethan’s, his grey eyes looking into hers and his black curls pulled back into the tiniest bun to match his papa’s. It amazes her just _how_ much he looks like his father. Not that anyone would or even _dream_ of it, but if there were ever rumors of Sansa being unfaithful to Jon, all they would have to do is look at both Ethan and Robbie to know that these are Jon Snow’s sons.

 

“Are you ready? You’ve only just learned this dance as well.”

 

“I know it,” he assures her with a confident nod and Sansa smiles again, standing straight and giving Amos a nod. The man begins tapping his foot and then his fingers begin plucking the lute’s strings.

 

“We face,” Sansa says. “You bow and I curtsy.” Both she and Ethan do that, facing one another. “Step forward. Right hand.” Ethan lifts his right hand and Sansa lifts her, both turning towards one another so their hands can clasp and, if Ethan wasn’t a boy of six, the hands would be raised above their heads with the man’s hand on her back. For now, Sansa lifts his arm above his head. “Circle. Circle. Circle. Three times. Release hands, step back. Turn to your right. I turn to my right.”

 

As she talks through the dance, she watches Ethan from the corner of her eye, unable to help, but feel immense pride as he gets all of the steps correctly; his own dance tutelage having just begun a few moons earlier, Sansa having started with the most basic of steps and going from there. 

 

Whereas Del is right and as a page, he won’t be dancing nearly as often, he will still be dancing and he must know _some_ dances for when he comes along with them when they travel to other Houses or they have feasts of their own in Queenscrown. Ethan, though, is the future Lord of the Gift and dancing is absolutely a necessary lesson for him. It is the way of things. Noble men know how to dance and Ethan is a noble boy, to be grown into a noble man.

 

“Face. One step to the right.” They both do as she says. “Turn one full circle into your right side. Face. One hop.” She smiles because this is Ethan’s favorite part, judging by the enthusiasm of his single hop. “Step back to your left. Face. Turn one full circle into your right side. One hop. Face. Step forward. Right hand. Circle. Circle. Circle. Three times. Release hands, step back. Bow and curtsy. And… we’re done.”

 

“Yay!” Robbie exclaims and both he and Nora, Nora smiling, begin clapping for them.

 

 _Baa!_ Dorren bleats out as well.

 

Hearing clapping from the front doors of the Hall, Sansa turns and there stands her husband with his main advisor, Davos, the man as always standing to Jon’s right. Jon is smiling and clapping and Sansa wonders if he had been standing there for the entire length of the dance or if he has just now arrived to see the end of it. On his other side, stands his Direwolf, Ghost.

 

“Papa, did you see?” Ethan asks him excitedly.

 

“I did,” Jon smiles, crossing the floor to come to them, Davos and Ghost coming with him, Ghost coming to sit with Dorren and Davos standing behind Nora’s chair. “You are a much better dancer than me. It took your mother three months to teach me that dance.”

 

“See?” Sansa smiles at Del, who has gotten to his feet as soon as he saw that Jon was near. “It took him time, but he knows it now.”

 

“Has my page been calling your lessons stupid again?” Jon wonders, looking to the page in question.

 

Del flushes and lowers his eyes to the ground. “Dancing lessons _are_ stupid, My Lord,” he mutters.

 

Sansa purses her lips to keep from smiling and it seems as if Jon is doing the same.

 

“You might not always think that,” Jon tells the boy. “One day, when you’re older, and we go to a feast with pretty girls, you might very much like the idea of dancing and not looking like an idiot when you do it.”

 

“Blech,” Del dramatically sticks his tongue out as if the mere image of that offends him.

 

“Blech!” Ethan than mirrors and that means, of course, Robbie has to let out a “Blech!”, too.  

 

Sansa lets out a laugh and looks to Jon. “Good luck, My Lord. I have tried to convince him of that very thing all afternoon and he seems to have very little interest in believing me.”

 

Jon looks to her with his own smile and suddenly, he takes hold of her right hand, Sansa gasping with the surprise of it, and he lifts their joined hands above their heads as he slides his left hand to the small of her back, where it should be. But then Sansa relaxes, knowing what her husband is doing, and she smiles as they look into one another’s eyes.

 

“Circle. Circle. Circle,” Jon is the one to say as he and Sansa turn in three circles, their bodies moving as one, and both can hear Amos beginning to play his lute again.

 

Sansa and Jon go through the steps of the entire dance.

 

“Hop!” Ethan exclaims when it comes to that part and both Sansa and Jon do just that, Sansa smiling as Jon lets out a laugh and Ethan laughs, too. They hear Robbie giggle and clap his hands again.

 

Sansa and Jon then step forward again, their right hands joining above their heads and Jon’s hand sliding to the small of her back as they spin around in three circles. But when it comes to releasing and stepping back, Jon seems to have other ideas. He lowers their hands and then with his right, he takes hold of Sansa’s left, causing her to drop the skirt of her dress she is holding up. Sansa laughs, quickly holding her skirt up with her right and holding onto Jon’s hand with her left as he sweeps them away, turning and leading them around the dining tables in the Great Hall, moving in time with the tune on Amos’s lute.

 

“Someone’s been practicing,” Sansa smiles at her husband.

 

“You only _think_ that when Davos and I are locked away for hours in my chancery, we’re discussing Gift matters and not dancing,” Jon gives a grin in return.

 

Her answering laughter echoes against the stone walls and floor. 

 

“I think I’m falling in love with you all over again,” she notes with pink cheeks and a pull in her stomach.

 

“And all I have to do is dance with you?” Jon asks her with a teasing smile though she can see the intensity of which his eyes look into hers. She doesn’t doubt that he very much is feeling what she is feeling right now.

 

“Well… that’s _one_ of the things you can do,” she says with a mischievous smile and as Jon spins them back towards the hearth where the others are watching, he gives her a grin before he leans in and kisses her.

 

He stops them and at the same time, both take a step back and Jon bows as Sansa curtsies as Amos plucks the last lute string. Again, everyone claps for them and Dorren lets out an approving _Baa!_

Robbie slides off of Nora’s lap and comes hurrying to his parents, Jon bending down to lift the boy up into his arms. As he does, Jon looks to Del, who is still frowning at the idea of learning how to dance. He looks to Sansa, who is smiling with her pink cheeks, looking so happy and beautiful just from a dance, and she is talking with Nora about something as Ethan hops in circles around his mama where she stands.

 

He then looks back to Del.

 

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Jon tells him.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea was something I wanted to write for the original story, but it didn't fit and I wanted to post it somehow. I'm leaving this as a possible multi-chapter just in case I ever want to write more Lord and Lady of the Gift stories. THANK YOU!


	2. Morning Tasks to See to

…

 

“Thank you, Maester Tarly!” Ethan exclaims, already hurrying for the door.

 

“You are very welcome, My Lord,” Sam smiles as he gathers the scrolls he and Ethan had been studying from for Ethan’s lesson that morning.

 

Ethan leaves the Maester’s chancery, a mixture of running and skipping in his steps down the hallway. He smiles at the men and women who work in the Keep he passes; just as his mama has taught him to do and they all smile at him in return, stopping in their work to give him small bows or curtsies.

 

“You must always remember that the men who patrol our battlements and the boys who clean our stables and the women who clean your chamberpot every morning are _all_ equally important,” mama tells him.

 

And it is not a lesson Ethan forgets. He is only six, but he knows that someday, he will take over for his papa as Lord of Queenscrown and the Gift. Already, these are his people, too, and during his lessons with Maester Tarly, he has learned that there have been many bad Lords and Kings who have not taken care of their people. Ethan already knows that that is not the kind of Lord he wants to be.

 

Some mornings, after everyone breaks their fasts, papa and mama will go into their private solar to see to the stacks of papers on their desks that never seem to lighten. They can be in there for hours, going over the account ledgers, letters from their people who are requesting a meeting for one thing or another – or letters from other Houses in the North - and reports from the onion and asparagus fields and the cranberry bogs.

 

“A Lord’s work never ends,” papa tells Ethan on the occasions Ethan is allowed to join his parents so that he may learn what, one day, will be his responsibility.

 

The solar his parents share are between their two bedchambers – though they only sleep in one – and the only way into the solar is through one of the chambers. Ethan hurries to one door first and pushes. He frowns though when it doesn’t open. He tries again. Locked. Hurrying down the hall to the other chamber door, he tries and pushes on that one as well. Locked again.

 

Frowning, Ethan begins slapping his hands against the door. “Mama! Papa!” He calls out.

 

He thinks he can hear something from inside, but he can’t be certain. It might have been a moan. Is one of his parents sick? Is that why the doors are locked; so no one else gets sick? The wood is thick and the walls are stone. It’s hard to hear anything within the rooms if someone doesn’t want it to be heard.

 

“Mama!” He calls out again, pounding his fists now.

 

“What is it, Ethan?” Papa finally answers from inside.

 

“I want to help!” Ethan shouts into the wood.

 

“There you are, My Lord.”

 

Ethan spins around to see papa’s advisor, Davos, coming towards him. Ethan instantly smiles at the sight of the man. Davos is one of his favorite people in all of the Keep. He is very smart though he denies that; no matter how often papa and mama say just that. Also, he knows that his papa and mama trust Davos more than nearly everyone else within their land and for that reason, Ethan trusts him as well.

 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Davos comes to a stop in front of him and gives him a small bow, keeping his hands clasped behind his back. “I was going to go out for a ride and was hoping you would wish to accompany me.”

 

Ethan gasps immediately. “Mama, can I go riding with Davos?” He spins back towards the door.

 

This time, he thinks he hear his mama letting out a laugh. “Be careful!” Mama calls out and she sounds like she’s run a great distance and is out of breath.

 

“Thank you, Davos!” Papa then calls out and Ethan, grinning, turns back to Davos, who’s lips are pursed as if he’s trying to keep himself from smiling for whatever reason.

 

…

 

Sansa lets out a breathless giggle as they hear Ethan walking away with Davos, the boy eagerly chattering about which horse he wants to ride that day, and Jon gives her smile before he dips his head back down between her thighs, where Sansa feels it has already been for hours.

 

She has lost count of how many he has given her this morning. Three. Perhaps four. No matter the number, it seems like her husband is always determined to get just one more from her, even if she’s on the brink of sobbing from the immense pleasure; much like she is now. They have agreed to try for a third child and it seems as ever since they came to that decision, Jon has decided to dive headfirst into the task. Literally.

 

Sansa has told him more than once that feasting on her won’t help his seed take root inside of her, but Jon won’t hear of it. Feasting on her is one of his favorite things to do and trying to get her with child or not, Jon sees it as something of a favorite pastime for him and nothing will keep him from entertaining himself. Besides, he very much likes – _loves_ – coupling with his wife whether they are making a child or not and he refuses to see it as a chore or a duty. He wants to enjoy coupling with his wife without feeling pressure.

 

Yes, they both want a third child, but he also wants to feast on his wife.

 

“Such a pink and plump cunny,” Jon murmurs against her.

 

“Jon,” Sansa moans – both embarrassed when he says such things to her in their bed and from the extreme arousal she feels at the same time.

 

“You’re absolutely soaked, love,” Jon continues. “You could drown me down here if you wish.”

 

“Yes,” she moans out this time, lifting her hips a bit and then moaning as Jon’s mouth returns to work.

 

A few minutes more and with his tongue, fingers, and beard scratching her skin working all together, Sansa lets out a cry just as her body momentarily stiffens before it begins to quake with trembles.

 

“Jon, Jon, Jon,” she moans, tugging on his hair, near sobbing. “Please, please.”

 

“Please what, love?” Jon asks, already lifting himself up – finally. “What would you like?” He asks as he keeps her thighs parted and he kneels up between them.

 

Sansa can hardly breathe, her heart thudding rapidly in her chest, but she knows what answer her husband is searching for. Just as she likes when he says such things to her, Sansa knows Jon loves hearing things as well.

 

“Your cock, my love,” she finally manages to pant out.

 

Jon lets out something of a growl – nearly like the sort Ghost, his Direwolf, will make when he’s hungry and someone is getting in the way of his meal – and Sansa gasps as he lifts her hips higher, resting her bum against his thighs and then she can feel him beginning to push his cock slowly inside of her. So slow, it makes her moan out slowly in reaction.

 

Jon lets out a groan, too, and in the back of her pleasure-addled brain, Sansa is grateful for the keep’s thick walls; though if Davos hurrying their son away was any indication, what the Lord and Lady of the Gift are doing in their chamber this morning is a secret to no one except little ones.

 

With their roles and responsibilities, Sansa knows – in reality – both she and Jon are far too busy to be lying about in bed like this, moving slowly, thoroughly, making love together as if they have nothing else to see to.

 

She supposes if they want to be _technical_ about it however, this is another task for the Lord and Lady that must be seen to; though honestly, Sansa never sees being with her husband in their bed as any sort of task and more traditionally speaking, they already have two sons. They don’t _need_ to be seeking for a third child of either sex. But this is something they both want; very much. Either a third son, but both are hoping for a daughter if the Gods wish to grace them with another baby.

 

Jon maneuvers her thighs so that he may lay down on top of her and Sansa’s open arms welcome him, holding his sweaty body to her equally sweaty one and she opens her mouth for him. Jon kisses her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers; kissing her and his cock moving in and out of her as if he wishes to crawl within her and spend the remainder of his days there.

 

“Jon,” Sansa tears her mouth away and moans out, feeling another one building within her already.

 

Jon dips his head down, beginning to press lips to her throat and breasts. “You want me to spend myself deep inside of you, Sansa?” He asks her in a heavy, breathless voice against her skin.

 

Sansa’s eyes are closed and she nods her head quickly, doing her best to remember how to breathe as her fingers tangle in his black curls, gripping them and holding on as he rocks her body with his. “Yes, Jon. Yes,” she breaks into another moan as she feels her husband’s hand slip between their bodies.

 

“You want it all?” He lifts his head so he can look to her face and Sansa struggles with her eyes to keep them open so that she may look into his. “Tell me you want it, Sansa.” His hips never stop moving; his cock never stops pounding into her, steady enough for his skin to slap against hers.

 

“I want it, I want it,” Sansa begins to babble. Between his cock and his thumb now on her bud, she’s so close. And then, as it always does, it slams into her so suddenly, she cries out and the inferno spreads across her body, her nails digging into her husband’s back as she clings to him.

 

Jon groans too at the feel of her explosive release. “Squeeze me, Sansa,” he moans, his face pressed back to the side of her throat. And then he finds his release too, slamming his hips one final time against hers and Sansa can feel his seed emptying inside of her.

 

They lay there, both drenched in sweat and their chests heaving up and down as they try to breathe again.

 

“You are going to kill me, My Lady,” Jon finally is able to say, lifting his head to look down upon her.

 

She looks absolutely gorgeous – her long red hair, dark with sweat, her cheeks flushed, her blue eyes darker than they normally are. He looks as if he has properly ravaged his wife this morning. He already knows he married the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros and he always feels a surge of intense possessiveness whenever he sees her in this state; right after. He is the only man to know just _how_ beautiful his wife is.

 

“Me?” Sansa smiles, amused, and raises an eyebrow at him. She then lifts her hand to wipe at a bead of sweat on his temple. “I think this was just a ruse so you wouldn’t have to work on the accounts today,” she teases with laughter in her voice. Jon grins, too, and dips down for another kiss. “You’re not denying it, My Lord,” Sansa then points out to him.

 

Jon laughs this time and then shakes his head. “Anything is better than balancing the accounts,” he agrees and then lets out another laugh when Sansa thumps him in the shoulder with her fist.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a very unforeseen update lol I hope you liked it. Thank you for reading!


	3. Duties to a King

…

 

Robb’s visit to the Gift was completely unexpected, word coming from one of their guards in the country, near the borders of their land and it reaching the Keep just as Robb and his small party was drawing nearer. The Gift certainly isn’t “in the neighborhood”, it the northern most land in Westeros before the Wall. And as King, Robb certainly doesn’t just drop by unannounced. When he and Queen Wynafryd do come for a visit, it is planned at least a month in advance so Sansa can properly prepare the Keep for their stay.

 

So when the King’s arrival was announced, both Jon and Sansa were understandably confused – and then panicked; Sansa because their home wasn’t prepared to receive the King and Queen in the North and Jon because he thought perhaps something had happened or somewhere in the North had been attacked.

 

When Robb arrived in the Keep’s bailey with just four of his guards, their confusion – and now concern – grew even as Robb dismounted and hugged them both with a small smile.

 

“Uncle Robb!” Standing with their parents, Ethan and Robbie, of course, were ecstatic to see their Uncle and Robb bestowed each of his nephews with a fierce hug.

 

“I must speak with you both,” he told Jon and Sansa in a quiet voice and now, Sansa felt the same panic which her husband was feeling as the three locked themselves away in the Lord and Lady’s private solar.

 

“Queenscrown certainly isn’t a place you can simply drop by for a visit,” Sansa pointed out to her brother as they sat in the chairs by the roaring fire, the journey taking at least three full days if the weather permitted.

 

Robb took a sip from his cup of wine one of the serving girls had brought before leaving with a curtsy. “Winnie… we lost the baby,” he then told them, staring at his cup rather than at them.

 

“Oh, Robb,” Sansa reached over and squeezed his arm. “I am so, so sorry.”

 

Jon didn’t know what to say and remained silent while his eyes showed his sorrow. This is the third babe the King and Queen had now lost and each time there was another miscarriage, once it was known, the whole of the North felt the loss alongside with their King and Queen for they still had yet to have an heir.

 

Jon remembered how he had felt when he and Sansa lost their little baby – to be born between Ethan and Robbie. He had felt angry and lost and then, so sad that he and Sansa had to experience such a grief. He couldn’t imagine how it would be to go through that feeling three separate times and he and Sansa had nowhere near the pressure that Robb and Winnie had to provide heirs. Sansa and he both wanted a third child – and have been strenuously trying for one – but they already had two sons. They don’t necessarily _need_ another. But they loved their children more than life and simply wanted more to love.

 

Robb and Winnie don’t even have one.

 

“Winnie has told me either we should divorce so I can marry a fertile woman or I should take a mistress and any child we have, I would legitimize,” Robb said, still staring at his cup.

 

“She doesn’t mean that, Robb,” Sansa was sure to say, giving Robb’s arm another squeeze.

 

“She certainly does,” Robb shook his head. “She feels, as Queen, she has one duty – to give me and the North heirs and since she feels she is failing at her duty, I must go off and find another who can live up to the title of Queen in the North.”

 

Jon still remained silent. He knew his close friend loved his wife. Robb and Winnie’s marriage might have been an arranged one, beginning with them hardly knowing one another past their names, but they had grown to love one another deeply. Jon could never imagine Robb taking Winnie up on either of her solutions.

 

Robb stood up from his chair, stepping towards the fire, before turning and looking at them both. “The North needs heirs. _I_ need heirs. Yes, Bran and Rickon are Starks and with their wives, the Gods willing, they’ll be able to have children, but they are still too young. Bran and Meera have just been married for under a year and they have no children yet.”

 

Sansa found herself sitting in her chair, growing tense; as if already knowing what Robb was going to propose.

 

“No,” she heard herself say before she could even think to swallow the word down.

 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jon looking at her. He hadn’t figured it out yet. Sansa kept staring at Robb and slowly, she rose to her feet.

 

“Sansa, you have two sons. I know Ethan has already begun to receive training on being Lord in the Gift.” Robb paused and swallowed. “Robbie is two. I could take him back to Winterfell with me and begin his training… I would name him my heir.”

 

“What?” Jon said, his question barely above a whisper.

 

“You’re not taking my son, Robb. King or no King,” Sansa said, her voice low – dangerous – and her stare was strong as ice, focused on her brother. “He is a Snow. Not a Stark. And his home is here, in the Gift.”

 

“He has as much Stark blood as he does Snow and you would honestly not want your son to be King after me?” Robb asked, his eyes focused on his sister and nowhere else. “The North _needs_ an heir, Sansa. You know that. Everyone knows that! You think Stannis isn’t sitting down in King’s Landing, unaware that I haven’t solidified the North as strongly as we all thought I would? Who’s to say that Stannis isn’t preparing to attack from our weakened position?”

 

“We must wait for Bran and Meera or Rickon and Lyanna to have their own children!” Sansa snapped. “The North is not weak, Robb! You have arranged these marriages and have merged these Houses yourself! We fought and won our independence and Stannis isn’t a fool enough to march North in a declaration of war!”

 

“What happens if I was to die, Sansa?” Robb fired back. “What happens if I get sick or simply fall from my horse and bang my head and die? The North would be in absolute chaos without another in my line. If I take Robbie with me and make him a Stark and declare him my heir, the North would be stable.”

 

“You have two brothers. If you were to die, either Bran or Rickon would take your seat,” Sansa told him. “Declare one of them your heir, but you are _not_ going to take any of my sons. I refuse to let you.”

 

“I am your King,” Robb said, standing straight, his eyes daring her to contest that.

 

He rarely – if ever – pulled the “I am your King” card; at least not with those in his family. To others, to the Lords or Ladies daring to question him, he certainly had no problem with reminding them who he was. But when it came to his family, Robb always liked to be the son or brother before being the King.

 

But this matter was too serious and went past familial relations.

 

Sansa felt tears gather in her eyes even as she felt her body tremble with anger. She turned towards Jon, looking to her husband for his help.

 

Jon was staring at Robb as if he was still trying to completely comprehend what Robb was suggesting. Then, slowly, he turned his head to look at Sansa, standing as well.

 

She knew her husband well enough to know what he had decided. Her husband might have not talked often – always the sort to think and choose his words instead of just blurting out whatever was on his mind first – but she could read his face. The twitches of his facial muscles, the way he sighed or tilted his head slightly or the way his eyes moved. He hadn’t always been so, apparently, before Sansa knew him, but the war had changed so many things; including Jon. 

 

Sansa began shaking her head. “No. No, Jon!” She then exclaimed before she could stop herself.

 

“He is our King…” Jon began to say, but Sansa wouldn’t hear of it.

 

“He’s our son! He’s two and he’s a Snow! He will stay a Snow and he will stay in the Gift!” Sansa felt the tears streaming down her cheeks and she spun back towards Robb. “You think of something else, _Your Grace_ ,” her tone spat venom on those two final words before she left the solar without being excused.

 

In the hallway, she could still not breathe properly and the tears would not stop falling. She knew that Ethan would be in his lessons with Maester Tarly at this hour and Robbie would be with his nurse. She needed to see her youngest son; to hold him in her arms and not let him go. Right now, her arms were aching to hold him.

 

She found him with his nurse, both enjoying the warm sunshine in the gardens.

 

“Mama!” Robbie stood on his still slightly-wobbly legs at the sight of her as Sansa came to him.

 

She wiped her cheeks and gave him the best smile she could. “My love,” she said and Robbie laughed as Sansa bent down and hoisted him into her arms, spinning them around once. He smelled like the fresh air of the Gift – the sun and the cold air mixed together. He smelled like _home_ ; their home.

 

Sansa held him tightly as she excused his nurse so she could spend some time alone with her son. It was also asked if she could stop at the stable so one of the stable boys could bring Dorren. And then it was just Sansa and Robbie again and she gave her a son a kiss on his head as they settled themselves onto the fur blanket that was spread out on the ground along with a few of Robbie’s toys.

 

As he chattered to himself and played with his wooden blocks and animals – all carved by Davos, Sansa focused on her breathing and calming her racing heart down. She would reach out every few minutes to touch her son’s black curls and she smiled when Robbie would lift his head and give her a face-splitting grin.

 

For having half Stark blood – as Robb pointed out – both her sons truly looked like the Snow blood dominated. Their black curly hair and gray eyes matched their father’s. She wondered if she and Jon would have a third child and if they did, if it would be another son or a daughter. Would the baby look like a Snow or would they remind everyone that these children _do_ , in fact, have Stark in them as well?

 

King Robert Stark, second in his name.

 

Sansa couldn’t help, but frown. No, not Robert Stark. Robert _Snow_ , named for his Uncle and King. But… Robb _was_ King and she might have been his sister, but she was still one of his subjects and as Jon said, what Robb, their King, said, that was the way things were to go. But she wasn’t just a subject or a sister. She was a mother and how could Robb ever expect her to send one of her sons away – no matter it was a duty or not?

 

Nora, Sansa’s maid, came soon after, joined by Dorren, Sansa’s prized ram.

 

 _Baa!_ Dorren bleated out happily and trotted to the blanket to greet both Sansa and Robbie, Robbie clapping his hands and getting to his feet at the sight of the animal, nearly falling into Dorren’s side, but Dorren stood still and stable, used to the small Lord still getting bearing of his legs and often losing his balance.

 

What would happen if she and Jon _did_ let Robb take their Robbie back to Winterfell? What would happen if Robb and Winnie were able to have a child? Would Robbie still stay a Stark or would he return to being a Snow, allowed to return to his home in Queenscrown in the Gift or would Robb still keep him?

 

Sansa didn’t like that there were so many questions that just didn’t have answers. Anything could happen in this life and she understood why her brother was worried for not only their family’s future, but the future of the North, but Robb – along with every Northerner – had fought for their independence away from the lower six Kingdoms and they would remain free from the rest of Westeros. They would not let it be taken away from them again whether their King had an heir or not.

 

Robb mustn’t be thinking clearly. That’s the only explanation Sansa could think of when it came to her brother’s outlandish request. No; her King’s outlandish _order_. Robb loved Wynafryd and they had gotten pregnant three times; and had lost all three. Robb loved his wife and now, she was suggesting divorce or Robb getting into another woman’s bed. Sansa couldn’t imagine everything that was in her brother’s mind right now. And to travel three days to see the Lord and Lady of the Gift and basically tell them he was taking their son…

 

This wasn’t Robb. It wasn’t. He just wasn’t thinking clearly. He had two brothers with the Stark name and if the Starks understood one thing, it was the duty to their family. If Robb wanted one of them to be King after him, neither Bran or Rickon would think to protest.

 

There _were_ other options other than Robbie being taken away from her.

 

Robbie returned to his wooden toys and Nora began working on the sewing she had brought out with her and Dorren settled himself on the blanket, nestling against Sansa, Sansa petting her ram while her mind was still so far away. She could only pray to the Gods that Jon was in the solar with Robb, right at this moment, thinking of these same things that Sansa was thinking of, and telling their King.

 

And if Robb heard all of these reasons and was still adamant about Robbie going with him, Sansa would just have to think of something else. There was no way Robb had thought he could come here and not encounter a fight from his sister. Sansa was a loyal subject to her King and she more than understood all about responsibilities, but Robb had another thing coming if he thought his sister, a Snow with Stark blood, a _wolf_ , would just let her youngest son go and not have anything to say about it.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea has been in my head for a few days now and I was finally able to sit down and get it out. Thank you for reading!


	4. House Snow

…

 

When Jon first became Lord of the Gift and settled into his new role and married life in Queenscrown, the head table in the Hall was raised on a dais, but after a bit of time, Jon had the dais removed so the head table could be placed on the floor; on the same level as all of the other tables. He may have been a Lord, but that was just a word and he was still just a man. He wasn’t any more important that the kitchen women who served the meals or the men who shoveled the pig shit. Without all of them, working together, the Gift wouldn’t be nearly as successful and wealthy as it was today.

 

Despite the wealth of their land and House, whether the King was present in their Hall or not, the people in the Keep of Queenscrown ate simple meals. Hearty and filling, but certainly not the elaborate feasts other Houses have; especially when someone as important as Robb was at their table. So whether or not they knew that Robb would be visiting, Sansa more than likely wouldn’t have changed the meal for that evening.

 

Fresh loaves of bread, a warm cranberry borscht soup, and venison and onion pies. This far North, the people prefered their foods to be heavy and hot in their stomachs above all else and their Lady always planed their meals accordingly. And though House Snow had proven to be one of the most successful Houses – not just in the North, but in Westeros – there were many outside of the Gift who viewed those people in the Gift as being just short of being complete wild savages.

 

Jon spooned his borscht and looked to Sansa from the corner of his eye as she ate some of her bread. He wasn’t surprised when she arrived in the Hall for the evening meal with Ethan hurrying ahead of her and Robbie in her arms. She hadn’t spoken a word to Robb nor to Jon as they all got themselves settled and she has kept Robbie in her lap for the duration of them being served and now eating; as if she expected someone to snatch their son up from her at any moment.

 

The Gift, over these past few years, had become a wealthy land – known for their exports of cranberries, onions, asparagus, pigs and having some of the finest sheep’s wool in all of Westeros. And yet, they were still looked down on by so many others. Jon wondered how Robb thought that having an heir named from this very land would be good for a unified North. Yes, Robbie was a Stark and a Snow and his blood was strong as were his roots to the North as any other Northerner, but still… if there were Lords who were snobs when it came to the Gift, why would these same Lords follow a King from that very land, no matter how strong and wealthy the House Snow and the Gift had come to be?

 

Jon did not want to lose his son. Yes, Ethan would, someday, become Lord of the Gift, but that didn’t meant that Robbie wasn’t just as important as his older brother. Maybe Robbie would be as strong a soldier as his papa; growing to be the one who protected this very land for his older brother and all who lived here. Or maybe Robbie would grow to be as brilliant as Sam. Maybe he would be the next maester or serve on his brother’s council. There was no telling what Robbie would grow to be.

 

One thing Jon did not wish for his youngest son was to be King in the North.

 

Jon saw what being King did to Robb. The pressures and responsibilities on his shoulders never eased and they were so close in age and yet, Jon could see the wrinkles around Robb’s eyes and the grey already streaking some of his curls that sitting in his chair gave him.

 

His wife was not speaking to him and though Jon understand her anger towards him, he also felt his own towards her in return. Sansa was quick to just assume his thoughts and feelings and hadn’t made any attempt in speaking with him so he could explain to her. Did she think him a cold man who didn’t love their son where he would more than willing just let Robb take him away without a battle? Did she not know that Jon would absolutely die a hundred times if that was what he had to do to keep Sansa, Ethan and Robbie all here?

 

He was angry at her if she _didn’t_ know that or if she doubted him in that respect.

 

When the meal was finished and things were beginning to be cleared away, Jon turned towards Robb, who had spent the meal, speaking with Davos and Sam. Sansa stood without saying a word and hefted Robbie up in her arms and ushered Ethan to walk ahead of her, leaving the Hall, and them.

 

“I need to help Sansa ready the boys for bed,” Jon told his King.

 

Robb nodded and then stood, grasping a hand onto Jon’s shoulder. “Try to speak with Sansa and get her to understand,” he then implored.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand myself, Your Grace,” Jon answered.

 

Robb looked at him, silent, and then gave a single nod. “May I speak with you both tomorrow morning? I will do my best to explain things.”

 

Jon nearly told him that he couldn’t imagine any explanation Robb could give that would justify him taking their son away from them, but perhaps, he could say that tomorrow. Instead, now, Jon bid him goodnight and then goodnight to the others before following after his wife and children.

 

Ethan and Robbie both had nurses, but Sansa and Jon preferred to see to their children as much as they possibly could. They had even ensured that Ethan and Robbie’s chambers were both near to theirs so if either boy needed something during the night, Sansa and Jon would be the ones to see to it rather than another.

 

They took turns – Sansa would put one to bed and Jon would put the other and then, they would switch. Tonight, Sansa had gone into Robbie’s chamber so Jon went into Ethan’s and at six, Ethan was very determined to get himself ready for bed without help from anyone. Jon simply stood there and smiled as Ethan first changed into his long shirt he slept in and then picked up his clothes, folding them as best as he could and setting them on the table. Sansa and Jon did not want their sons to become lazy or irresponsible just because there were maids around to pick up after them.

 

“Papa?” Ethan said after he climbed into his bed and Jon made sure he was covered with the blankets and furs before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Is Robbie going away?” Ethan asked as innocently and casually as a young boy could be while asking such a question that was far more serious than he clearly understood it to be.

 

Jon instantly shook his head. “Robbie isn’t going anywhere. Your mama and I would never let it happen.”

 

“Uncle Robb’s the King,” Ethan said quietly, now frowning; wanting to believe his papa, but even at his young age, already knowing that what the King said was what would be done.

 

“King Robert is also your uncle,” Jon replied and then leaned over, kissing Ethan’s head. “Good night.”

 

“Good night, papa.”

 

Jon stood up and turned, stopping when he was that Sansa was standing in the doorway, obviously having overheard the conversation between father and son. They looked at one another and said nothing. Sansa then came into the chamber as Jon walked past her to go into Robbie’s across the hall.

 

The little boy was already sleeping in his small bed, his stuffed wolf in the crook of his arm. Jon stood at the side of the bed, looking down to him with the faintest of smiles pulling at one corner of his mouth. He then leaned down and kissed his head, murmuring to him to have sweet dreams.

 

Jon admitted that he sighed with relief when he was in his and Sansa’s chamber, getting himself ready for bed, and Sansa entered, closing the door behind her. They had separate chambers, but they never slept apart. Not for years. Tonight though, Jon had been worried that Sansa would go into the other chamber with him in this one.

 

Jon stood silently, knowing that Sansa would speak first. And she did.

 

“He is our King?” Sansa echoed his words from earlier, the disgust clear in her tone.

 

Jon didn’t say anything to that. He knew that this would be Sansa’s first attack. After being married for these past years, he had gotten to know his wife fairly well; he liked to think he did.

 

“He is our son, Jon!” Her voice raised. “Our _two_ -year-old son and you’re just going to give him away?”

 

“I’m not going to give anything or anyone away,” Jon frowned. “And how could you think that I would just allow our son-”

 

“Because you didn’t speak up!” Sansa cut in with a furious shout. “You didn’t say _anything_ other than he is our King!”

 

“He is, Sansa!” Jon couldn’t help, but shout back. “Robb is our King and you know that thing about Kings? What they want, they get!”

 

Sansa shook her head at him and he could see the fire glowing in her eyes even with a few feet of distance standing between them.

 

“Yes, you know that’s true, Sansa,” Jon took a step forward. “He may be your brother and Robbie’s uncle, but if Robb says he wants to take our son, what would you have me do? It’s not… it’s not the same for me as it is for you,” he then sighed, feeling drained all of a sudden.

 

Sansa’s arms were crossed over her chest and at Jon’s words, she dropped them to hang them at her side. “What do you mean?” She frowned, her brow furrowed.

 

“You are the King’s sister. You are a Stark. You are the very blood of Winterfell that holds the North together.” Jon sighs deeply. “And who am I? A no one born to a woman who lived in an inn. The only reason I am _anyone_ is because of your brother. A soldier, a General, a Lord – all given to me by the King and can be taken away just as quickly if he wishes.”

 

Sansa brow further furrowed as she quickly crossed to him. “He wouldn’t, Jon. He wouldn’t even _dream_ of doing anything like that. And even if he did… it wouldn’t matter.”

 

“Sansa-”

 

“It wouldn’t matter, Jon,” her hands went to his cheeks, holding his face and keeping his eyes to her. “If Robb took away your titles, none of it would matter because you would still be Jon Snow of House Snow and I and our sons and every single person in the Gift loves you. Robb didn’t make you, Jon. You were a soldier and fought well and became a General on your own merit, smart enough to aid the King in our war of independence. Robb didn’t make you any of those things.”

 

Jon began to shake his head, but then he stopped himself as he looked into his wife’s eyes. “Your brother… he is grieving three lost babes and a wife he loves telling him to divorce her. He’s not thinking with his clear mind. If he does threaten to take everything away from us-”

 

“We are House Snow and in the storm, we will not tremble,” Sansa cut him off with their House words.

 

It almost made Jon smile, but another thought prevented him from doing so. “I love you and our sons and would lay my life down for you all, but I don’t know what a grieving King will do when he is denied something he is convinced he wants.”

 

Sansa was silent, her hands still on his cheeks, her eyes still staring into her husband’s. She loved this man with her whole heart and she knew he loved her with the same matching deepness. She _knew_ this man. And right now, looking into his eyes – putting aside her own anger and disbelief at her brother and this entire situation for the moment – Sansa could see.

 

Not only was Jon looking completely lost over the situation – knowing he would fight for their son if Robb forced it to come to that – but he looked absolutely terrified as well at that possible prospect.

 

Sansa slowly slid her hands from his cheeks and rested them on his chest. “I need to go speak with my brother.”

 

“Now?”

 

“I won’t be able to sleep until I do. And King or no King, he is first and foremost my brother and he does not deserve a good night’s sleep in my home.”

 

Jon’s lips nearly twitched at that and it was enough for Sansa’s lips to twitch as well though both knew there was hardly a reason to smile at all.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for taking the time to read this one.


	5. Mixing the Ingredients

…

 

One thing Sansa loved about her brother – whether she was furious or not. Robb may have been the King in the North, but when he visited, he didn’t insist on special treatment. He didn’t demand the best rooms or the best wine or an hours-long feast to celebrate his visit. When he came to see his sister in her home, he very much liked to act simply as Robb, her older brother.

 

Except this time. This time, he had come to Sansa’s home and demanded her youngest son. She could love her brother for wanting to simply remain her brother as much as he could, but she absolutely could hate him at the same time and that was the emotion coursing through her as she stopped outside his door, knocking swiftly.

 

The hallway was empty and silent; the torches burning in their sconces on the walls. It was silent on the other side of the thick wood door as well, but as promised to Jon, she was not going to let her brother and King sleep. Without permission, and not wanting to wait another minute, Sansa pushed open the door, half expecting to see her brother snoring in the bed without a care in the world.

 

Instead, she saw that Robb was very much still awake, sitting in one of the two chairs instead of the roaring fire, a cup resting against his temple as he stared blankly into the flames.

 

He didn’t acknowledge that Sansa – or anyone – had come into the room and Sansa closed the door behind her without announcing herself. She came to the fire and sat herself in the second chair. On the table between them, she saw that the jug of wine was nearly empty. Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but when she looked to her brother, truly looked at her brother, she stopped herself.

 

His eyes were red and she knew, without a doubt, it wasn’t because of the drinking. He had been crying and every word Sansa had intended on screaming at him died right on her tongue.

 

And as she did with Jon, Sansa paused her own anger and disbelief at her brother and this entire situation for the moment to take a deep breath. Her brother was not himself at the moment and yelling at him would help no one’s cause; especially hers.

 

With another deep breath, Sansa settled back into the chair and stared into the flames of the fire in front of her. Robb didn’t say anything and Sansa took another moment for herself and her thoughts.

 

“When you told me that I was to marry the new Lord of the Gift and come up here to make this my new home, I was absolutely terrified. I knew I would have to marry, of course. I knew, as your sister, I was the most important match you would make, but I was still completely terrified, especially since I hadn’t even seen the new Lord yet. I was also confused as to why you were having me marry someone in the Gift. I felt like you were banishing me.

 

“But when I met Jon… and fell in love with Jon… it wasn’t a mystery to me anymore why you sent me here to marry him. I remembered father’s promise to me. He would find me someone gentle and brave and strong and you were doing the same thing for me. You wanted my husband to be a _good_ man and Jon is the best man.”

 

Sansa paused to look at Robb. He was no longer staring at the fire. Instead, he was looking at her, waiting for her to continue; knowing that she had more to say.

 

“During the war and losing father and Arya, I never imagined myself being truly happy again. Content? Maybe. But Robb, I am _so_ happy. This kind of happiness, I thought it would only ever be a dream for me. I love my husband and my sons and they love me. Together, Jon and I have made the Gift worth _something_. For us and our family and people and for _you_.”

 

Despite her best efforts, Sansa felt tears beginning to sting her eyes though she desperately tried to keep them right where they were. This wasn’t the right time for tears. Not yet.

 

“Please, Robb. Please, as my brother and not the King; as a brother, who wanted so badly for his sister to be happy when he sent her up here to live. Please don’t take my baby away from me.”

 

She swore silently to herself when the first tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another, and she wiped them away, but there was no stopping them. And when she lifted her eyes to look to her brother, she saw that his cheeks were wet, too.

 

Robb tilted his head back and drained the wine from his cup before setting it on the table. Then, Robert Stark, King in the North, slid from his chair and put himself on his knees in front of his sister.

 

“Sansa, I’m sorry,” he said, the words struggling to come out in the midst of his sobs.

 

Thinking that he was apologizing for still planning on taking her son, Sansa cried harder whether she wanted to or not. She had wanted to be so strong; to show her brother that she was now as hard as the land of the Gift. And she _was_ strong. Jon had told her that more times than she could count and he would joke – though Sansa knew her husband to know that it wasn’t a joke in his opinion – that everyone truly knew who ran things.

 

Sansa rapidly thought of another card to play. “Does mother know you’re planning on doing this? If she doesn’t, I’ll send her a raven right this instant to tell her your plan.” It didn’t matter how old any of them were. Catelyn Stark was still a formidable force towards her children if she needed to be.

 

Robb let out a huff of laughter and he moved backwards until he was sitting on the fur on the floor in front of the fire. Sansa paused a moment before she joined him, slipping from her own chair to sit on the floor with her brother; just like they used to do when they were children, sitting at their father’s feet.

 

“No, she doesn’t. Neither does Wynafryd,” Robb told her with a shake of his head. “And I’m sure both would give me an earful if I returned to Winterfell with my youngest nephew and neither of his parents in sight.”

 

“Robb,” Sansa said his name quietly and reached out, taking one of his hands. “I don’t understand.”

 

“You’re the smartest person I know, Sansa,” he then informed her.

 

“Then you should know how awful this plan of yours is if _I_ can’t even figure it out,” she quipped back.

 

A ghost of a smile brushed across Robb’s lips before it was gone again. “I have two brothers and I know it would make the most logical sense to name Bran then Rickon my heirs if Wynafryd and I fail to make our own. But, Bran and Meera have just gotten married. Rickon, next summer, will be off to Bear Island. Like you, those two will be busy with their own Houses, building them up, strong for the North. You know that is no small task and I can’t ask them to do that while also staying in Winterfell with me for training.”

 

Sansa was silent, listening, her mind rolling the words over and over again as if she was mixing ingredients in a bowl. “What of Meera’s brother?” Sansa asked. “Jojen Reed _should_ be the heir to House Reed, correct?”

 

“He has passed it onto his sister,” Robb answered. “He had no interest in it.”

 

 _Such a luxury_ , Sansa thought to herself with the slightest tint of bitterness.

 

“I love my wife and I will not divorce her and I will not lay with another,” Robb then cut in as if Sansa was going to suggest that next.

 

Sansa wouldn’t though. She knew her brother loved his wife; his own arranged marriage. She understood Wynafryd’s mind at the moment; telling her husband to either divorce her or find a mistress. If she was in the same position with Jon, unable to have sons – or children at all – Sansa knew she would tell Jon the same things. And she knew her husband would vehemently refuse.

 

Her heart ached for both Robb and Wynafryd and she wanted to help them as much as she wanted to help herself, Jon and their family.

 

“You are King,” Sansa then stated as if that was up for debate.

 

Robb had pushed himself forward for the jug of wine, leaving the cup behind. “Last time I checked.”

 

Sansa fought to keep herself from rolling her eyes at him. “So… as King, you can merge Houses, can you not? Other Houses are in the Neck. Much smaller Houses yet, but, well, if their King was to come to them and promise them a possibility of becoming a _larger_ House-”

 

“And if I did that, you don’t think I would need Bran to remain there to oversee it?” Robb interrupted.

 

Sansa refrained a heavy sigh. “Is there _no one_ in the North you trust to carry out your word?” She paused to think. “There is Moat Cailin in the Neck. It has been unoccupied for centuries, but those who have lived there have always sworn an allegiance to the North and House Stark.” She watched as Robb held the jug, but did not take a swig. Instead, he was staring at her, listening to her every word. It gave her the confidence to continue speaking and following this particular train of thought. “Jon proved himself to you in the wars and you rewarded him with a title and a House. Is there another from the wars that you can look upon favorably? One who has proven his loyalty?”

 

Robb opened his mouth to answer, but then, at the last moment, he shook his head, thinking of something else. “How would House Reed feel if I took their seat away from them? House Reed has always overseen the Neck for House Stark,” he pointed out to her.

 

“House Reed would feel pride if their own Queen in the North came from their House and being the House of the Queen would keep them elevated,” Sansa answered. “ That and they’ve always been loyal to the Starks so why wouldn’t they remain in our high graces?”

 

“And what if I placed someone in Moat Cailin and gave them the responsibility of overseeing the Neck? What if Wynafryd and I do manage to have a child of our own? Bran and Meera would return to their own House, Bran no longer my heir, and then we have House Reed, unsatisfied, possibly furious and no longer in a position of power as they once were,” Robb looked to Sansa to answer for that. “They could rebel and possibly gather the other Houses in the Neck to do the same.”

 

Sansa shook her head. “That is why I asked you if there was someone you trust as deeply as you trust Jon. If you explain this to him, and also explain that it might not be definite, you need someone you can trust and has unwavering loyalty to you. If you have an heir and Bran and Meera return, House Reed would retain their high position in the Neck and the man you placed at Moat Cailin would remain as Lord with his own House.”

 

Robb was silent as he thought that over. He then looked to Sansa with a look Sansa did not recognize. It was almost as if Robb was looking at her and didn’t quite recognize her.

 

He then smiled a little. “Perhaps I should name _you_ my heir and your husband and children could return with us to Winterfell.”

 

Sansa smiled as well. “I will never leave my home. You know that, Your Grace,” she said with a light tease.

 

Robb’s smile came easier now as he paused to take a drink of wine from the jug. “No, I can’t move you and Jon anywhere. I need you to stay here and keep making the Gift as wealthy for me as you have these past few years. You’re too valuable here. I knew you would be.”

 

Sansa’s smile was easier now, too, as Robb offered her the jug. She took a much smaller sip.

 

“You’re as unforgiving as this land you now call home,” he observed.

 

“I am,” Sansa agreed. “I don’t know what you were expecting though. I am Catelyn Stark’s daughter and you threatened to take one of my children away from me.”

 

Robb chuckled as he took the jug back from her. “The Gods help Stannis and the South if they even _think_ of trying to get the North to join Westeros once again. I’d place you on my war council immediately and they would never know what hit them.”

 

…

 

They talk until their throats are sore and Robb’s jug of wine is empty. Only then does Sansa leave to return to hers and Jon’s chamber. The room is dark and she can see Jon’s shape in bed, but as soon as the door opens and then closes behind her, he is sitting up.

 

“You are alive,” he stated quietly and Sansa laughed softly.

 

“Did you expect something different?”

 

Jon lit the candle on the table next to the bed and Sansa crossed the room to him. Without a word, she gave him her back and Jon stood from the bed to begin unlacing his wife’s dress.

 

“I imagined you would kill one another in an epic fight,” Jon said, only half-teasing.

 

“And you wouldn’t come to aid your wife?” Sansa teased in return, looking at him from over her shoulder.

 

“I was actually planning my escape with Ethan, Robbie, Ghost, Dorren and Del to North of the Wall,” he told her with a faint smile that only grew as she laughed at that. It faded though as he looked to her, not even having to watch his fingers; having unlaced his wife’s dresses enough time now to do it with his eyes closed. “Is all well?” He then asked, his voice dropping to a quiet volume again.

 

And Sansa looked to her husband with a small, but warm, smile and she gave a nod. “It will be,” she promised him and Jon released a breath he had been holding before stepping in as close to her as he could, his arms wrapped around her and holding her body firm to his chest.

 

“What would I do without you?” Jon asked her, his lips to her ear.

 

She could feel the heat of his chest, radiating against the skin of her back, now open and exposed. Despite that – her husband always seemed to run so warm despite them living so far North - Sansa nearly shivered anyway.

 

“That’s funny,” she finally responded as Jon’s lips remain on her ear, his arms still tight around her; holding her and not making a move to let her go. “Robb had asked me, too, what you would do without me.”

 

…

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/46959700175/in/dateposted/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank GOODNESS that hot mess of a show ended in S6, am I right, when Jon's character hadn't been completely assassinated and Sansa wasn't completely alone? I actually have been plotting an AU-S6 story for a couple of weeks now, but I want to continue with _The Strings that Tie to You_ before I begin another story. It's definitely next in line though!
> 
> And thank you so, so much to sweetaprilbutterfly for the amazing art she made for these Queenscrown stories.


	6. A Queenscrown Feast

…

 

Robb stayed for a few more days and needless to say, the rest of his visit went much smoother.

 

He looked over the account ledgers with Jon and Sansa and let them know just how amazing it was what they had been able to do up here; and he made sure that they both knew he truly meant it. There were so many who thought the Gift was nothing more than a barren land that had to be traveled through in order to get to the Wall and beyond, but Jon and Sansa – and everyone in the Gift – had worked hard to show that it was anything but.

 

Years earlier, when he had first sent Jon to live here and then had brought Sansa to be his wife, Robb had known that if anyone could make the Gift into something, it would be his closest friend and his sister. And like any man, especially any King, Robb enjoyed being right.

 

He went on a tour with Jon and Davos of the cranberry bogs, asparagus and onion fields, the pig farms and the large grasslands where endless flocks of sheep roamed. He went to the training yards where Jon and his men showed their King why the Gift was a stronghold that only idiots would choose to challenge.

 

It was undisputed among all that King Robb in the North was a brilliant strategist. After all, he had led the North to fight against wildings and things beyond the Wall before challenging Stannis Baratheon and his army and then aiding that man in defeating the Lannister forces to win the North their hard-earned independence.

 

Robb would tell anyone who cared to listen though. He won all of their wars because he had General Jon Snow at his side and it was no surprise to him that Jon had trained his men in Queenscrown to be reflective of his own skill. Robb remembered when the last of the wildings had raided Queenscrown as they used to, having no idea the forces that were now facing them and protecting this land.

 

He also spent time with his nephews and his sister, of course, doing something he was rarely able to do as King.

 

Being at ease.

 

The final night before he was to return to Winterfell, Sansa had planned a feast.

 

“A small one,” she was quick to assure both Robb and Jon. “I’ve invited all of those in Queenscrown who wish to attend and see their King,” she said.

 

That wasn’t surprising to Robb either and it made him smile. Winterfell was the capital of the North and was always teeming with nobility – Lords and Ladies and Knights. Queenscrown in the Gift was the opposite. It was still the most sparsely populated land of the North and there certainly weren’t Nobles to entertain. Sansa easily could have sent ravens to neighboring Houses and lands to let them know the King was in Queenscrown and there was a feast in his honor, but Sansa knew her brother – and her husband – well enough.

 

The Hall was full with those in attendance – the common people from Queenscrown – and lively music played as they all ate and drank and the more courageous ones came to speak with their King; all certainly having never been around of someone of such a high stature and most could hardly believe that a _King_ would wish to ever speak with any of them. Robb, though, was more than happy to speak to any and all. These were the people of the North – _his_ people – and every single one of them was important.

 

As more food was brought from the kitchens, Davos leaned down to his Lord’s ear. “Wildings are here, my Lord,” he told him in a low voice.

 

“Tormund?” Jon guessed and Davos nodded.

 

“Not the best timing of theirs,” Davos then commented with a wry smile and Jon smiled a little as well.

 

Jon then leaned over to Robb. “Tormund and some wildings have arrived, Your Grace.”

 

Robb was in the middle of chewing and he swallowed after a moment. The North and the wildings – led mostly by Tormund though he didn’t much like the title of that – had a truce with one another. Jon’s own page was Tormund’s son and Sansa’s dearest friend, Jeyne, had gone and married a wilding man. It was not as it once was between the two groups and the Gift and the wildings had even begun trading with one another as they lived in relative peace.

 

Robb never would have sent his sister to live up here if he thought the wildings were any kind of threat to her or her safety, and the peace between them was both necessary and wanted. But Robb admitted that he was still a little uneasy – and slight untrustworthy – towards them.

 

“It is your home,” Robb reminded him and Jon paused a moment before looking back to Davos. With a nod, he rose from his seat and left the head table with his Hand.

 

Sansa was on the space that had been cleared for dancing, laughing and breathless as she and Ethan spun about. Upon seeing Jon coming towards her, she stopped, the room still spinning around her. She reached a hand out to steady herself, coming to a rest on Ethan’s head.

 

“Papa!” Ethan exclaimed happily, grabbing his hands.

 

Jon grinned down to him and then looked to his wife. “Tormund and a few others have arrived. I am going to invite them to join us,” he let her know.

 

“Of course!” Sansa happily beamed. “The more, the merrier!”

 

Jon smiled and then with a kiss to his wife’s cheek, he and Davos continued on their way to greet their visitors.

 

Tormund and the three other wildings with him were, of course, more than happy to join in the fast and were quickly as full of warm food and ale as everyone else. He had his arm around his son, Del, and was shouting to anyone that would listen that it was _his_ son that was Lord Jon’s page.

 

Sansa laughed as Del smiled, but his cheeks were red, clearly embarrassed from his father’s boasting.

 

“Shall we show your father some of your other training?” She asked the boy.

 

Del’s eyes widened, immediately shaking his head, knowing what she was referring to. “No, My Lady-”

 

“Bah!” Tormund exclaimed and Sansa wondered how many cups he could have possibly had already. “Show me what you’ve learned, boy!” He slapped a hard hand on Del’s back, nearly sending him spilling forward.

 

“Show him, Del,” Jon grinned now and Del threw his Lord a look which only made Jon chuckle.

 

Sansa had gone to the musicians to have them play the proper tune and had returned, taking both of Del’s hands. “Come,” she smiled brightly. “Your father will be jealous once he sees.”

 

“Go!” Tormund slapped Del’s back again and Del propelled forward, following Sansa to the floor, no matter how slowly he tried to drag his feet.

 

“I really don’t want to do this, My Lady,” Del said as they faced one another.

 

“I know,” Sansa nodded. “But remember what I told you? When we are at feasts, as my Lord’s page, you should know how to dance. You might even see a pretty girl here with who you’d like to share a dance.”

 

“Does she have to be pretty?” Del asked as they began the correct moves of the dance.

 

“Of course not. As long as her heart is pretty and good,” Sansa smiled. She noted that with talking, Del was not thinking of the steps of the dance and with him not overthinking, he hadn’t made a single mistake yet. “Is there a girl here who has caught your eye?” Sansa wondered after they had done the hop.

 

“No, My Lady,” Del’s answer was too quick and Sansa knew that there most definitely _was_ a girl. Of course, she began to immediately wonder who it could be.

 

“That’s my boy!” Tormund’s voice boomed across the Hall when the dance was finished and Sansa did her final curtsy as Del did his final bow.

 

There was laughter and Del ducked his head to hide his blush.

 

Another song was struck up and before he could be roped into another dance, Del hurried away, disappearing into the other people, and with a smile, Sansa returned to the head table.

 

“It is a wonder what you and Jon, here, have done with that boy,” Tormund gave her a grin.

 

Sansa smiled as she lowered herself into the chair that had been left open next to her husband. Looking to the floor, she saw that Robb was dancing now, paired with an old woman from the village who’s bones moved slowly, but her eyes sparkled as any girl in her youth as the King smiled and danced with her.

 

Her brother was a good King. She never doubted that he would be. And one of the reasons was what she saw now. The people in the North loved him because Robb loved them all in return.

 

“He is a good boy,” Jon was telling Tormund and Sansa returned her attention to the conversation. “I don’t know if he… when he is of age, I’m not sure how eager he will be to return north of the Wall.”

 

Tormund took a large gulp from his cup. “That’s why I left him here with you and your wife, Snow. He was never meant to stay north of the Wall. And now look at my boy! Dancing like any other of these kneelers.”

 

“And you truly don’t mind your son being one of these kneelers?” Sansa couldn’t help, but ask.

 

Since moving to the Gift and marrying Jon, she had had more experiences with wildings now than she could count. Most good; some bad. And though there is peace now, that didn’t mean that wildings were scrambling to settle down and live this side of the Wall and others in the Gift weren’t hurrying to become a wilding either. Jeyne and her husband, Lenyl, had found a compromise, but they had been lucky to do so.

 

Despite the peace and the friendships – Sansa very much liked Tormund and she knew Jon considered Tormund to be a close friend – that didn’t mean that they had anything in common.

 

Tormund leaned forward, helping himself to more ale from the pitcher on the table. “Nah. There are worse things the boy could be. And it’s not like that’s the worst King to be in charge for my boy to be following,” he nodded towards Robb, now dancing with another woman – this one a bit heavyset and extremely enthusiastic – but Robb just laughed and allowed himself to be swept away by his new partner. “And you two aren’t so bad yourselves,” Tormund added with a wink towards them both and Jon smirked as Sansa let out a laugh.

 

Jon leaned forward to take the last lemon cake from the dish in front of them and leaning back in his chair, he extended it towards Sansa, his eyes on her. Sansa was sure it was the wine she had drank that evening or the warmth of the Hall from the fires and everyone in attendance, but her husband looking at her, Sansa could feel her body – her entire body – feeling as if it was overheating.

 

She gave him a smile as she took the cake from him. The year before, Jon had surprised his wife on her name day with the construction of a glass garden so they could grow lemon and apple trees. Besides their children, Sansa thought it was the best thing ever gifted to her; and she made sure to tell Jon that again and again.

 

There was a strict rule in the Keep though. Lemon cakes _only_ on special occasions. Sansa meant what she told her husband after their wedding and had had lemon cakes during the celebratory feast. If they made lemon cakes more than on special occasions, Sansa Snow would be a much larger woman.

 

“Who is _that_?” Tormund suddenly asked, sitting up straight in his chair.

 

Jon followed his friend’s eyes. “Kitty. She’s our Head Maid. And she would eat you alive.”

 

Though it was extremely unladylike, Sansa couldn’t help, but laugh as she ate her lemon cake.

 

Tormund’s eyes only gleamed though and he tipped his head back, draining the ale in his cup. “If you think that will discourage me…” He clapped a hand on Jon’s shoulder so hard, Jon couldn’t help, but release an “Oof” at the force of it and then Tormund was out of his chair, following after Kitty.

 

“Kitty’s knee will shortly be having a meeting between Tormund’s legs,” Sansa commented casually and Jon let out a bark of laughter, making her giggle.

 

Leaning back fully in his chair, he reached a hand out, brushing his fingers along Sansa’s cheek.

 

“Mama!”

 

Both Jon and Sansa turned their heads to see a flushed Ethan, sweaty from dancing, standing on the other side of their table.

 

“Come dance, mama,” Ethan beckoned, waving his hands for her to follow him.

 

“Of course, love,” Sansa smiled and began standing from her chair, but Jon gently took hold of her hand before she could step away from him.

 

“Tonight, if you are feeling awake enough after dancing, would you like to return to our efforts of a third?” He asked her, looking up to her with that intensity in his eyes; like she was his own piece of lemon cake.

 

Sansa gave him a faint smile and then leaned down, brushing her lips across her husband’s; it not proper for a Lord and Lady to engage in open displays of affection in front of so many others.

 

“One dance with Ethan and then I don’t think anyone will notice if we slip away for the rest of the night,” she told him, her nose brushing against his.

 

Jon watched her go with a smile, Sansa taking Ethan’s hand and both going to join the other dancing fun. He finished the rest of Sansa’s lemon cake and then turned his head when he saw Davos coming. He instantly got to his feet and took the sleeping Robbie from Davos’ arms.

 

“Where was he?” Jon asked with a smile as his son’s head found his father’s shoulder, not waking.

 

“Sleeping under a table. Myles nearly stepped on him,” Davos said and Jon smiled again, holding his son close; even knowing that no one will _ever_ be taking him away, Jon still holds him close and tight.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few more chapters planned for this one. Just a few scenes I've been wanting to write for the Lord and Lady of Queenscrown and a trip back to Winterfell I've been wanting since the first story. Thank you so, so much to those reading and liking this follow-up. I absolutely love this world.


	7. Visitors

…

 

Jon tried to keep the frown firm on his face as the horse trotted into the busy bailey of the Keep, but he failed miserably and by the time the rider pulled on the reigns, slowing the horse and bringing the animal to a stop, Jon’s smile couldn’t be hidden.

 

“Stop smiling,” Lenyl grumbled. “You look like an idiot.”

 

Jon just kept smiling. “I’m smiling for what you’ve brought with you.”

 

Jeyne smiled down from behind her husband as Jon came to the side of the horse. “Hello, My Lord.”

 

Jon rolled his eyes as he always did when Jeyne used his proper title. “Jeyne,” he sighed, exhausted with her manners already, but Jeyne continued to smile. “Come on then.”

 

He held out his arms for her and slowly and carefully, Jeyne turned and with the bundle close to her chest, Jeyne holding it with one hand, she slid from the horse, Jon catching her easily and helping her to her feet. Once she stood in front of him, Jeyne wrapped her one arm around his shoulders, hugging him tight, and Jon smiled, hugging her in return, mindful of the bundle between them.

 

“Was your journey well?” Jon asked as Jeyne carefully moved the blanket in the sling aside so he could look down to the precious bundle wrapped in there, his smile growing the instant he saw her.

 

“Well enough, My Lord,” Jeyne answered, smiling as she looked down to her daughter as well.

 

Jon sighed and looked to Lenyl as he slid down from the horse. “Can’t you do something about that?”

 

Lenyl was much better at keeping his frown in place though his eyes looked a little bright to Jon. “I married a proper thing,” he shrugged and threw an affectionate around Jeyne. “Nothing I can do about it.”

 

“I am on the strictest orders to bring you to Sansa as soon as you arrive,” Jon informed them as one of the stable boys came to take Lenyl’s horse for water and a rest.

 

“How is she?” Jeyne asked as the three walked towards the Keep.

 

“I forgot how mean you all can be during this time,” Jon commented and Lenyl snorted.

 

Jeyne frowned. “Yes, sorry about being a bit short-tempered as _we_ carry _your_ children around in our bodies.”

 

Lenyl let out a short bark of laughter and Jon smiled to Jeyne.

 

“Carrying another one, are you?” He wondered.

 

Jeyne may have been holding her daughter in the sling to her chest and this might have been Lord Snow of the Gift, but that did not give her pause in smacking a fist in his gut, earning an “oof!” from Jon and another laugh from Lenyl as they made their way down the hall to Jon and Sansa’s chamber.

 

The third pregnancy for the Lady of the Gift was much like it was for her previous two. She had bursts of energy before becoming so tired and always taking at least one nap throughout the day; losing her stomach each morning in her chamber pot and not being able to stomach the smells of meats roasting. And of course, everyone fluttered around her, making sure she had everything she needs and was not overworking herself.

 

As always, at this time of day, just after the mid-day meal, Sansa had taken herself to bed where she saw to her business, looking regal as always as she sat amid a pile of furs, blankets and pillows. Dorren kept her company as he had done while she was pregnant with Ethan and then Robbie; the ram lying up on the bed with his Lady, looking as if he was holding his own court.

 

Robbie had also come into the habit of spending his afternoons with his mama, Sansa handing him bits of parchment that helped him practice his letters and numbers. Sansa had told Jon that she remembered when her parents told her that there would be another baby coming – Arya – and Sansa would be a big sister. As a young girl, Sansa remembered the excitement of having a new brother or sister, but she also remembered the worry she felt that she wouldn’t be as important to her parents anymore with the new arrival.

 

Sansa told Jon that she thought Robbie might be experiencing the same thoughts.

 

At the closed door, Jon opened it slowly and peeked his head into the room. His wife was sitting up against her pillows, looking beautiful in her white sleep shift and her hair down and flowing around her as she read over a parchment in her hands. Dorren was sleeping at the foot of their bed – but he lifted his head as soon as he heard the door open – and Robbie was playing with his toy wooden horse, galloping it over the furs and parchments scattered around as well as over Sansa’s large bump, making her smile.

 

“Sansa?” Jon spoke and Sansa’s eyes flew up to see him.

 

“Are they here?” She asked instantly.

 

He smiled and without saying anything, he pushed the door open wider and Jeyne entered the room. The instant Sansa saw her dearest, oldest friend, she promptly burst into tears and Jeyne began crying as well as she hurried to Sansa’s side of the bed. She leaned over and the two embraced tightly, weeping into the other’s shoulders. Lenyl and Jon stood at the foot of the bed, waiting, neither even dreaming of interrupting.

 

“Oh, you look so beautiful,” Jeyne smiled once they had finally pulled apart and Jeyne looked at her.

 

“Me? Look at you!” Sansa gushed.

 

Jeyne smiled faintly. “The constant cold does wonders for one’s complexion.”

 

“Robbie,” Sansa smiled as she put her arm around her son. “Do you remember your Aunt Jeyne and Uncle Lenyl?” She asked him though she knew he probably didn’t. Despite Queenscrown being so close to the Wall, where Lenyl and Jeyne now lived, visits were still far and few in between.

 

“Hello, Robbie,” Jeyne smiled warmly.

 

Robbie nodded nonetheless while smiling shyly, pressing himself shyly into his mama’s side.

 

“And is that…” Sansa began to ask though she already knew, her eyes lighting up.

 

“Yes,” Jeyne nodded with a slight laugh in her answer. “She’s getting too heavy to carry like this, but she slept nearly the whole time which is best.”

 

Reaching into her sling, she gently hefts out her nearly year-old daughter, the girl just beginning to rouse. Jeyne kissed her cheek and then turned the baby around in her arms so Sansa could see her for the first time.

 

“My Lady, meet Beth,” Jeyne smiled.

 

Sansa gasped upon hearing the name and tears nearly immediately flooded into her eyes.

 

It was a wilding tradition that after one of their babies was born, they did not name it for the first six months; mortality among wilding babies low due to the harsh environment they were born into. And once Lenyl and Jeyne’s daughter passed her six months and they named her, Jeyne did not send a raven to Sansa to let her know the name, wanting to surprise her when they visited.

 

“After our dear, dear friend, Beth Cassel, who we lost in the wars,” Sansa explained to her husband and Jon gave her a small smile. “Oh, she’s so beautiful, Jeyne,” her wet eyes returned to her friend and the baby with the black curls, brown eyes and the smallest frown, obviously a bit perturbed for having been woken. Sansa then threw a smile towards Lenyl. “She looks like her father.”

 

Lenyl snorts again. “Poor girl.”

 

“Hush,” Jeyne frowned to her husband as she gently passed Beth into Sansa’s arms.

 

“Hello, beautiful Beth. Hello,” Sansa smiled and cooed to her in a sweet voice. Beth’s frown remained, but it seemed to soften. She was _definitely_ like her father, Sansa nearly laughed. Robbie sat up on his knees to look at the new babe now in his mama’s arms with open curiosity.

 

_Baa!_

“Stop,” Jon frowned to Dorren, who seemed to frown right back to him. “She’s allowed to show someone else love and affection.”

 

“Still running things around here, eh?” Lenyl smirked.

 

“He likes to think so,” Jon nodded.

 

_Baa!_

“You must be tired and hungry,” Sansa tore her eyes away from Beth to look to Lenyl and then Jeyne. “Jon,” she looked to her husband next. “Perhaps take Lenyl to the Hall for something to eat and have one of the girls bring something to eat for Jeyne in here?”

 

“Yes, love,” Jon nodded.

 

“Yes, love,” Lenyl teased and Jon swiftly punched him in the side.

 

Robbie giggled and Jon gave his son a wink. Jon came to the side of the bed and hefted Robbie up into his arms and then dropped a kiss on Sansa’s head.

 

“I would offer to take her to give your arms a rest,” Lenyl spoke and as he did, he smirked when he noticed Sansa’s arms tightening a bit around Beth. “But I wouldn’t dare.”

 

“We’re fine,” Jeyne smiled at her husband. “Will you be in the training yards after you eat?”

 

“Need to see how Del is coming along,” Lenyl confirmed. “Still weak on his back foot?” He asked Jon as they left the bedroom, the door closing behind them.

 

“Come,” Sansa smiled to Jeyne and patted the spot where Robbie had previously sat.

 

Jeyne smiled and it took her a moment to remove her boots and all of her furs before settling herself down into the bed at Sansa’s side just as she used to when she still lived here and was Sansa’s maid. She rubbed an affectionate finger under Beth’s chin and finally, the baby broke into a smile. Sansa carefully set her down between them and Beth instantly picked up one of Robbie’s wooden toys, left behind, and proceeded to slobber all over it.

 

“So, tell me everything,” Sansa requested of her friend.

 

“Me?” Jeyne laughed a bit. Her hand then came to a rest on Sansa’s pregnant belly and she could feel the baby moving around inside. “It seems like you have far more to tell me.”

 

“You know how these things happen,” Sansa said with her cheeks turning pink and Jeyne laughed again.

 

“Not much longer now,” Jeyne smiled. “Lenyl and I aren’t going to leave until after the birth.”

 

Sansa squeezed her dear friend’s hand. “Thank you.” Tears, once more, flooded into her eyes and Jeyne turned her body so they could embrace, both squeezing their arms around the other.

 

“Do you have an idea what it might be?” Jeyne asked once their hug broke and her hand returned to Sansa’s belly. This baby was certainly active. It seemed as if they were already practicing riding horseback in there.

 

“Jon is convinced it’s a girl,” Sansa smiled, her hand joining Jeyne’s so she could feel her baby as well.

 

“And you’re not convinced?”

 

Sansa smiled and shook her head. “I think we will have a third son because we want a daughter so badly.”

 

Jeyne laughed softly at that, because wasn’t that the way of things? “No matter what the babe, I know that the bells will ring and there will be a feast in their name.”

 

“Always,” Sansa smiled in response. “I think I would prefer another son,” she then confesses. Jeyne’s expression was one of absolute surprise and it made Sansa laugh softly. Her hands smoothed over her middle, smiling faintly as she felt her child moving from within. “After Arya… I couldn’t wait to have a daughter and give her that name, but honestly… it might still hurt too much to have a daughter named after my sister and knowing that they would never be able to meet in this life.”

 

Jeyne was quiet, thinking that over. “Isn’t Ethan named for the first father Jon had in life? Not his real father, but a father all the same? A man who’s no longer alive?”

 

Sansa nodded in confirmation.

 

“Does your son having that name hurt Jon whenever he says it or thinks it?”

 

Sansa paused to think that over though she knew there was nothing to think. “No. He is proud to have a son with Ethan’s name.”

 

“I am not telling you that enough years have passed and it shouldn’t still hurt when you think of your sister and how much you miss her,” Jeyne continued. “You will miss Arya for the rest of your life and I’m not telling you that if you and Jon have a daughter and name her Arya, that that won’t hurt. But I think if you have a little girl named Arya, it will only help your heart heal a little bit more each day.”

 

Sansa continued to run her hands over her middle, looking at it, imagining the child growing inside. She then looked to the closest friend she had ever had in her life; besides Jon.

 

“I have missed you so much,” she whispered as if it was some grand secret meant for no one else’s ears.

 

Jeyne smiled, her eyes growing wet. “I have missed you, too. It is lonely on the wall.”

 

The two woman rested their heads together. Sansa knew she could ask Jeyne to move back to Queenscrown, but it would be a waste of words. Lenyl was a wilding. He would move further North of the Wall if he could. But he had married a wife who wasn’t and didn’t necessarily want to be. Living in one of the castles on the wall was a compromise for them both. Jeyne had a firm, constant home and Lenyl still lived in a place where he was able to go and be outdoors whenever he wished. Both were happy.

 

And Sansa was happy that Jeyne still lived somewhat close enough where visits were possible. Did she see them as often as she would like? Of course not. But these are the compromises and sacrifices that had to be made when different people grew and molded lives together.

 

Beth gurgled and looked to her mama, holding the wooden block coated in baby slobber out for her to take.

 

“Thank you,” Jeyne smiled to her daughter graciously, taking the block with the tips of her fingers.

 

Beth smiled, pleased, but then after a moment, she frowned when her mama still held the block and she no longer had it for herself. She let out a huff and both Sansa and Jeyne laughed as the block was handed back to Beth, the baby putting it straight to her mouth again, a furrow still between her brows.

 

“She really does look like Lenyl,” Sansa said, still laughing.

 

“It’s terrible,” Jeyne rolled her eyes, but Sansa knew she did not mean it. “I had hoped that naming her after Beth, she would have Beth’s sweet humor, but apparently, the wilding blood is too strong to fight. I can never tell if she is just unhappy with everything around her or has to take a shite.”

 

Sansa’s laughter grew so loud, soon joined in by Jeyne’s, that it could be heard from the other side of the door and Dorren decided to join in with his own _Baa_ noises, which seemed to only make both women laugh harder.

 

Jon, carrying a tray laden with food, having taken it himself instead of one of the kitchen girls, heard the laughter from down the hall and it only grew louder as he neared the door. He smiled widely to himself. He loved that sound. His wife’s laughter was his favorite sound in this whole world.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! A trip back to Winterfell (finally) will be in the next chapter!


	8. Grandmother's Offer

…

 

“And you and Jon weren’t disappointed?” Catelyn asked as she and Sansa sat at two chairs by the fire, Sansa nursing the babe from her breast. Sansa had never even considered getting a nurse maid for her and Jon’s three children and insisted on feeding them herself, despite her higher station; just like her own mother had done.

 

Catelyn had asked the question though she can’t imagine Jon or Sansa ever being disappointed with one of their children, whether it be a girl or a boy. She knew they – Jon especially – had hoped for a girl and when the raven arrived at Winterfell with news of Catelyn’s third grandchild, Catelyn had had the split moment of disappointment just because she thought Jon and Sansa might feel it for a second as well.

 

But Sansa smiled now and looked down to hers and Jon’s third son, Hoster, having arrived four months earlier in the middle of a brisk night, screaming for everyone to know that he had arrived.

 

While they knew with certainty that they would name a daughter Arya, they hadn’t discussed another son’s names at length. It was quickly decided that they would not name this son after her father. Eddard would be the name of Robb’s son – _when_ Robb and Winnie had a son – and Sansa would not take it. They had thought of naming him after Davos, Jon’s most trusted Hand and advisor, but when the man had heard that, his response had been a frown and a “You certainly will not”.

 

Sansa had looked down to hers and Jon’s third son and unlike his two older brothers, this babe had the red copper hair of his mother; the same curls as his brothers and father, but his hair the shade of the Tully blood.

 

“How about Hoster? My mother’s father, my grandfather, was Lord Hoster Tully of the Riverlands,” Sansa said, turning her head to look at Jon to see his thoughts on that.

 

Jon was in bed at her side as he always was after his wife gave birth, one arm around her and the other hand ghosting over the babe in her arms, the little one finally stopping with his screams and seemed to silently be waiting in Sansa’s arms, patient for his parents to name him.

 

“Hoster Snow,” Jon had tested the name on his tongue and then had smiled, Sansa smiling, too.

 

Sansa looked to her mother now with a smile. “No, we weren’t disappointed. Jon was surprised, but I wasn’t. I knew we weren’t going to have a daughter.”

 

“No?” Catelyn smiled as well.

 

Nothing warmed her heart more than seeing her child with her own child. It always brought tears to her eyes when Catelyn was able to witness Sansa as a mother to her sons. Visits to the Gift were few and far in between and trips for the Snow family to Winterfell were even more so, but they all did their best. This trip to Winterfell had to be paused until Sansa gave birth and then until the babe was old enough to travel a distance.

 

Sansa laughed. “Jon was absolutely convinced we would have a girl so I knew we would have a boy.”

 

Catelyn laughed, too, and once Hoster was finished at his mother’s breast, Sansa passed the babe to his grandmother so Catelyn could burp him as Sansa righted her dress once more.

 

“Would you like me to watch him tonight?” Catelyn then offered.

 

She knew the maids had already set the cradle in Jon and Sansa’s chamber, per earlier instructions, but now Catelyn thought perhaps, Jon and Sansa would like some time alone. The journey from the Gift had taken nearly a week and she knew that they were rightfully all exhausted. As soon as the evening welcoming feast Robb had planned for his family’s arrival had drawn to a close, both Ethan and Robbie were deep in their sleep. Hoster was near that way as well, drunk on his milk, and nearly asleep now in his grandmother’s arms.

 

“Oh, mother,” Sansa began to quickly shake her head just as Catelyn knew that she would. “Hoster still wakes up near dawn for another feeding. And I… I haven’t slept away from him yet.”

  
Catelyn gave her daughter a small smile, warm with understanding. “I think Hoster and I will manage one night without you. And perhaps you and Jon would like a night alone, just the two of you,” Catelyn suggested.

 

Sansa felt her cheeks warm at that. It was true she and Jon had not had a night to themselves in many months. She actually couldn’t remember the last time they were intimate. There was always that time during her pregnancy when she craved him at seemingly all hours of the day or night, but then she grew too uncomfortable and then she had given birth and for the weeks after, they were busy with a new babe and two young sons in addition to keeping up with running their land. Their maester, Sam, also did not advice coupling too soon after the birth of a babe.

 

But Sansa admitted that she missed her husband. Very much so. And it wasn’t just being with him physically – though that was a larger part of it. She missed the times of just being with him, lying in bed with him at the end of the day, talking about anything and nothing in particular at the same time.

 

Jon would never complain. He wasn’t the sort. Sansa could only hope that he missed her as much she him.

 

Still…

 

Sansa reached out and touched Hoster’s head. The baby didn’t even stir in his grandmother’s arms. Sleeping in his cradle in Jon and Sansa’s chamber back home in Queenscrown, he was able to make it through the night (most nights), only waking them up bright and early for a meal. It _would_ be possible for Hoster to sleep in Catelyn’s chamber this night…

 

“We didn’t travel all this way so you could look after the children,” Sansa told her mother.

 

Catelyn promptly rolled her eyes at that. “Sansa, your father and I took whatever help was offered to us at any time when it came to you and your siblings. You will do the same and not be an idiot.”

 

Sansa opened her mouth to respond to that, but she had no response to possibly give. She then saw a smile form across her mother’s face and Sansa felt herself smiling, too.

 

“Alright,” Sansa agreed, laughter bubbling in her throat.

 

Winterfell was so different than Queenscrown. For one, Winterfell was so much larger. This was the first time Ethan and Robbie were seeing it – in person and not just envisioning it from their mama’s stories – and both boys had stuck their heads from the carriage windows as they approached, their eyes wide as they took it in.

 

Queenscrown was also much quieter than Winterfell. Perhaps it was because they lived in the furthest northern land before the Wall and population was far more sparse up there (though more people had actually been moving to the Gift to try their hand at cranberry growing, learning of the money that could be made in it). Winterfell, as the capital of the North as well as the home of the King and Queen, were home to the royal court, Lords and Ladies staying for prolonged periods of time, nearly every room always being occupied.

 

Even now, at this late hour, Sansa could still hear groups of people continuing their celebration from the feast. Growing up here – and then later running Winterfell and watching her brothers as Robb and Catelyn were on the front of battle – Sansa had always been used to the people and the noise. But now, here for not even a full day, Sansa already missed the quietness of home.

 

Catelyn and Sansa stopped outside of the chamber which had belonged to Arya. Since her death, Catelyn has not allowed any member of court to stay in that chamber and no one outside of the Stark family was even allowed to step foot into it except the maid when she freshened it up. But it was Catelyn who suggested that her grandsons stay in this room for the next month of their visit; it also the chamber conveniently located across the hall from Sansa’s chamber where she and Jon were sleeping.

 

Both women slipped into the room now. The fire was still roaring in the hearth, making the room warm – though the boys are used to the freezing nights of the Gift and Winterfell actually might be a bit too warm for them – and it gave Sansa more than enough light to see her boys. The bed was so large, both Ethan and Robbie were in no danger of hitting or kicking one another in their sleep, and Sansa first dipped down and kissed Robbie on his head before walking to the other side of the bed and doing the same to Ethan.

 

She watched them both for a moment before straightening and found that Catelyn was watching her.

 

Outside in the hall again, the door closed behind them, Catelyn easily held a sleeping Hoster with one arm and put her other around Sansa.

 

“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you all are here,” she said and Sansa smiled.

 

“I will remind you of that in a month’s time when you’re more than ready to see us home again,” Sansa teased.

 

Catelyn just smiled and squeezed her arm. “Never,” she promised.

 

In what was Sansa’s chamber before she married, Jon was lying in their bed already, an arm over his eyes, but Sansa knew her husband wasn’t sleeping. For one, he was still fully dressed. She also knew he had just indulged in too much wine at dinner that night. When he heard the door open and she stepped inside, he moved his arm away, but then he saw Catelyn as well as a male servant and he sat up quickly.

 

“Mother is going to take Hoster tonight,” Sansa explained as the servant picked up the wooden cradle that had been placed at the foot of their bed before their arrival.

 

“Is everything alright?” Jon asked, all, but springing from the bed; too quickly for he had to take hold of the post at the foot of the bed to steady himself again.

 

“I thought you and Sansa would like a night of rest after a long journey,” Catelyn said.

 

“Oh,” Jon looked momentarily confused and looked to his wife, who just smiled. “Thank you, Catelyn,” he then said, giving her a small smile.

 

Sansa went to her mother and gave Hoster a kiss on the head and Jon came and did the same. Catelyn then kissed both Sansa and then Jon on the cheek.

 

“Good night, dears,” she smiled and with that, she turned and left the chamber, Sansa following after her so the door could be closed behind her.

 

She then looked back to her husband, who was still standing there, holding onto the post. Even then though, she could see him swaying on his feet. She couldn’t bite back her smile as she came to him and turned her back to him, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. Nora, her maid, had made the journey with them, but Sansa had sent her to her own bed, hours ago, and she would not wake her for something her husband could easily do.

 

Even slightly drunk, Jon’s fingers were quick and capable as he unlaced her dress, and she shivered as his lips brushed across one of her bare shoulder blades.

 

“I have missed you,” Sansa told him in a quiet voice.

 

“I’ve missed you, too,” Jon’s reply was immediate and Sansa wondered why she had even thought for a moment that he _hadn’t_ missed her.

 

Sansa turned around to face him, her dress loose and falling down her arms and chest. She didn’t step out of it yet though and instead, slipped her arms around her husband’s waist. Jon gave her a smile and lifting his hands to either side of her head, he leaned in and gave her a kiss. She could still taste the wine on his lips.

 

“You’re no good to me tonight,” she teased him before brushing her lips across his chin.

 

“I am not that drunk, Sansa,” Jon said and actually sounded so offended by her implication, it made Sansa laugh and she felt Jon’s lips curve into a wider smile where he had them against her ear.

 

Sansa was quiet, closing her eyes as she pressed her nose to her husband’s shoulder. She really was quite tired and knowing that, perhaps, Hoster wouldn’t be waking them up before dawn, it was rather tempting to spend their first night in Winterfell after a week of traveling to just sleep.

 

“I am tired and we have a month,” Sansa thought out loud, pulling her head back enough to look to Jon’s face. He _did_ look surprisingly sober all of a sudden as he looked at her with soft, warm eyes. “And I’m sure this won’t be the only night my mom will offer to keep Hoster in her chamber.”

 

“And no one says we have to do anything this month except rest,” Jon told her.

 

Sansa knew he didn’t mean anything by it – he was just being sweet Jon as he always was – but she couldn’t help, but frown nonetheless. “Don’t you want to?” Suddenly, she wondered how different she was to him. She knew he loved her as much as he always had, but her body had now carried three – nearly four – babes. It certainly wasn’t the same body she used to have. Was he no longer attracted to this present body of hers?

 

As if he could read her mind – and Sansa actually wouldn’t be surprised if he could – Jon’s hands ghosted down her cheeks and shoulders before his arms encircled her waist, pressing her body tight to his. She could feel how attracted to her he was and she blushed as if she was still a maiden and this was their wedding night.

 

“I always want to with you,” Jon said, resting his forehead to hers. “But it’s been ages and you deserve the most sober lovemaking in the world and… your brother and his damn wine and not thinking my hand over my cup is any kind of signal to him to stop filling it.”

 

Sansa laughed at that and slipped her arms around his neck, kissing him briefly. “This was my bed as a girl and I’ve never had a man sleep in it with me.”

 

“I would hope not,” Jon said, huffing the words out in a way that shouldn’t be adorable, but of course, it was and Sansa couldn’t help, but laugh.

 

“I’m excited to sleep in this bed tonight, in my husband’s arms,” Sansa said with a soft smile.

 

“These arms have missed you,” Jon murmured back as his lips brushed across her, his arms tightening around her waist just at the mention of them. “And we have a month and I’m not drinking anymore in that time no matter how much the King might bully me to do so.”

 

Sansa nearly laughed, but instead she exhaled a sigh. “A month,” she echoed as if there were few things she had heard better than that.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know many wanted a daughter for Jon and Sansa, but it's always been the plan to give them a gaggle of boys. I hope there isn't too much disappointment with that. The Winterfell visit continues in the next chapter with Sansa showing all of her boys off the Stark family home and some Stark/Snow family quality time. 
> 
> Thank you very much to those reading this one!


	9. Life at Court

…

 

Both boys stood in the dark, their hands clapped over their mouths to smother their giggles. They heard all sorts of noise on the other side of the wooden door – women working and hurrying about to and fro. The kitchen at Winterfell was so much larger than the kitchen at home and so many more people worked here. The boys knew they wouldn’t have to wait long.

 

And sure enough, they were right. Hardly any time had passed since they slipped into their hiding spot before one of the kitchen maids was opening the door to the dry foods storage room.

 

“Boo!”

 

“Boo!”

 

“Baa!” Dorren bleated out, not wanting his little Lords to have all of the fun.

 

The maid screamed as they hoped she would and then Ethan and Robbie went running past her, Dorren running after, both laughing as the maid shouted after them for scaring her half to death.

 

“Oh stop, Mags,” another kitchen maid could be heard saying. “It’s good to have mischievous children running around again now that both Bran and Rickon have left us.”

 

On the way from the kitchens, Ethan snatched two apples for himself and his brother and they burst out into the Great Hall, breathless from their laughter.

 

“And what have you two been getting into?” Their mother asked, suddenly standing in front of them, her eyebrow raised as she studied them both. “Terrifying the maids again?”

 

“Yes, mama!” Ethan proudly boasted. “She screamed, she was so scared!”

 

Robbie just crunched on his apple, smiling as he did.

 

Sansa looked down to her two oldest sons, doing her best to keep from smiling herself though Ethan could see the slightest upturn of her lips at the corners of her mouth and knew that she desperately wanted to. And then, she rested her eyes on Dorren, the ram standing on Ethan’s other side.

 

“Is this your influence, Dorren?” She questioned him.

 

“Baa!” was his response and that was what finally got Sansa to laugh, shaking her head as she did so.

 

“What am I going to do with you all? Everyone in Winterfell will be quite happy to see us leave when our visit has come to an end if you continue to torture them all,” she said and tried to do so sternly, but neither Ethan or Robbie were fooled. Both had been scolded in truth by their mama and papa to know when their tones truly meant it. Mama was smiling still and it sounded as if laughter was floating beneath her words.

 

Mama had been sitting by one of the great fireplaces in the Hall with grandmamma and Aunt Wynafryd, all of the women sewing, as baby Hoster slept in his cradle next to Mama’s now-empty chair. Grandmamma and Aunt Winnie were still in their seats, still sewing, but they were clearly listening and the smiles on their faces were evident. The only one who seemed truly upset with Ethan and Robbie was Mags, the kitchen maid.

 

“Go to your papa, the both of you,” Sansa said as sternly as she could, but her eyes were still twinkling and when Ethan laughed, she swiped at his bottom half-heartedly that just made him laugh more as he hurried from the room, Robbie on his heels.

 

Sansa watched her sons with a smile before turning back towards the fire where her sewing had been left. Dorren walked at her side, deciding he had had enough fun for the morning and he would join Lord Hoster in a late-morning nap. As Sansa settled down into her chair once more, Dorren settled himself down at her feet.

 

He liked Winterfell well enough, he supposed, but they had been there for a fortnight now and had a fortnight still in their planned visit and Dorren missed home. He missed his flocks and the halls of the Keep in Queenscrown. Here, it was too large with always too many people about who gasped when they saw a ram roaming the halls as if they had never seen such a thing. He had also heard more than one whisper about what _animals_ the people from the Gift were – even the King’s sister had gone up there to live and had become savage as the rest of them; allowing farm animals inside as if they were the most docile cat.

 

Dorren had nearly rammed the woman’s backside of who had said that when he heard her whisper it. He was _not_ a cat and his Lady was _not_ a savage.

 

He missed Ghost as well. The direwolf had come with them, but he had lasted only for a few days before he left to go back North. Jon had said that Winterfell was too South for him and he didn’t care for it. Dorren didn’t have such an excuse – he knew sheep could live anywhere – but that didn’t mean he _wanted_ to live anywhere. Queenscrown in the Gift was his home and even being here with his Lady and the little Lords, it didn’t matter to Dorren. He missed home and wanted to go home.

 

As if she could read his mind, and as his mother, perhaps she could, Sansa leaned down then and rubbed a comforting hand along one of his curved horns. He liked when she did that – she knew – and she was the only one allowed to ever do it. Not even Jon or the little Lords attempted to rub his horns. The rest of him was fine, but his horns were precious to him just like his Lady mother.  

 

It was why he was quite willing to ram his horns into anyone who dared insult her under their breaths.

 

…

 

Papa was the best swordfighter in all of the North; maybe even in Westeros. _Definitely_ in all of Westeros, Ethan liked to think. And Uncle Robb obviously thought so, too, since for the past few days of their visit, the King and papa had been in the training yards with the men of Winterfell, sparring for hours. Uncle Robb had his men under strict orders to listen to everything papa had to say and tell them.

 

Ethan and Robbie had run to the training yards, almost finished with their apples, and they sat on the top plank of one of the fences, watching. Del had come to Winterfell with them as well – as Papa’s page, Del went wherever they went – and Ethan saw that he was with the other youngest of the men, sparring with each other, the older men watching and shouting out words of advice, good-natured jeers or encouragement.

 

Papa did none of these things. He stood and watched Del carefully as his page fought against another’s page. Having taught Del everything the boy knew, it was obvious that Del was the most skilled of the pages fighting and once the others finished their own sparring, they stopped to watch.

 

Ethan felt pride. His papa was the best and now, his page was the best.

 

“What do you think, My Lords?”

 

Ethan and Robbie both turned their heads, smiling when they saw it as Uncle Robb, now leaning against the fence they sat upon. Robbie had become shy in their time in Winterfell. He had never been to a place as big with so many people around and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. He liked seeing his uncle, the King, and his aunt, the Queen, and his grandmamma, but other than that, he missed home.

 

He missed their gardens and hedge maze; the cranberry bogs and onion fields; all of their sheep and the pig and onion pies. He missed his room with his toys. He missed recognizing and knowing everyone. He missed the cold, too. At least he was here with papa, mama, Ethan, Hoster and Dorren. Del, too. Davos couldn’t be here though because he had stayed behind in Queenscrown to help with things while they were all gone.

 

“Is Del better than your page, Uncle?” Ethan asked.

 

Robb smirked a bit. “He is. Rory is a very fine page though.”

 

“He is,” Ethan agreed. “He just doesn’t have papa to train him.”

 

Robb let out a bark of laughter at that.

 

The sparring finished with the other page on his back and Del standing over him with his wooden sword’s blade to the boy’s throat. Cheers rose up – Ethan and Robbie trying to be the loudest – and Jon smiled widely as he clapped a hand onto Del’s shoulder, hauling him into his side and saying something into his ear. Whatever it was, Del – flushed and breathless – smiled, too.

 

“Just what we need. Teaching the no-good wildings how to fight like us.”

 

The words came from a man standing with another a few feet away from where Ethan, Robbie and Robb were. Ethan could hear them clearly despite the noise of the training yard, but before he could even turn to say something to them that mama probably wouldn’t like, little Robbie took his apple core and chucked it. It hit the side of the man’s head.

 

“Hey!” He growled, but when he saw who had thrown it – Lord Robbie, the King’s nephew – he straightened.

 

Robb had also heard what had been said and he frowned at the men. “Is there something wrong?” He asked.

 

“No, Your Grace,” the man quickly shook his head.

 

Ethan frowned at the man, giving him the glower that his mama said he inherited from his papa, and the two men quickly bowed to their King before hurrying away. When he turned back to Robbie to tell him that that was a good throw, he saw his little brother’s chin trembling and tears in his eyes.

 

“It’s okay, Robbie,” Ethan promised him and patted his shoulder even though he didn’t know what was wrong.

 

“Hey, you’re alright.” Robb hefted his middle nephew from the fence and held him in his arms. “You’re alright,” he told him in a gentle voice as Robbie gasped breaths in and out, trying to keep from crying.

 

Ethan frowned still, not knowing what was wrong with his brother. If they were back home, he would tease Robbie for being a baby and having to be held as he cried, but he wouldn’t say that here. They were so far from home and Ethan was his big brother.

 

It was his job to keep Robbie safe when they were somewhere new and different.

 

Just as Ethan slid down from the fence, landing on the ground, on his feet, with a thud, papa came through the crowd – with Del – to his King and sons. He was smiling, but it disappeared the instant he saw Robbie.

 

“What is it?” He asked, immediately alarmed, and handed off his wooden sword to Del before stepping forward and taking his son from Robb’s arms into his.

 

And now, being in his papa’s arms, Robbie seemed to deflate as he began crying in earnest.

 

“Robbie threw an apple core at a man who was saying a bad thing about Del because he’s a wilding!” Ethan exclaimed, thinking that that _had_ to be why Robbie was crying, but why? It wasn’t as if he missed his throw.

 

Del frowned when he heard that and held the swords tighter and stayed quiet.

 

“I think he misses home,” Robb told papa and papa nodded, rubbing Robbie’s back.

 

“Come on,” papa says, holding Robbie with one arm and holding the other out, beckoning Ethan. “Let’s go back inside and see mama.”

 

Sansa was still sitting by one of the fires in the Hall, sewing with Catelyn and Wynafryd, Hoster sleeping in his cradle and Dorren sleeping at her feet, when Jon entered with Robb, Ethan and Del, Robbie still in his arms and crying so hard, he was beginning to hurt Jon’s chest from listening.

 

Sansa stood up, alarmed. “What happened?” Her heart leapt up into her throat, thinking he had gotten hurt somehow in the training yards.

 

Jon just shook his head though as he approached her. “Homesick,” he said quietly; as if to keep Robbie’s secret, and Sansa’s own face washed over with sadness at the distressed sounds of their middle son.

 

“My love,” Sansa said gently as she began to take Robbie from Jon’s arms.

 

The boy turned, throwing his arms around his mama’s shoulders as she held him, rocking him gently. Dorren had stood up and looking back and forth at everyone in his family, it looked as if the ram was more than ready to buck his horns into whoever it was that had upset the little Lord so much.

 

“People are mean here!” Robbie suddenly wailed, his voice echoing against the walls.

 

“Who was mean to you, Robbie?” Winnie asked. “You tell your Uncle and he will see to them.”

 

“You’re right I will,” Robb frowned.

 

“They’re mean to Del because he’s a wildling and they’re mean to Dorren because he’s a ram and they’re mean to mama and papa behind their backs because they think we’re savages from the Gift!” Ethan was the one to tell them, nearly shouting it all.

 

“Baa!” Dorren agreed.

 

At Robbie’s wailing, Hoster began to stir from his sleep and then began to cry as well. Catelyn was swift to lift the baby from the cradle to attempt to comfort him before they had two screaming children on their hands.

 

“Oh, Robbie,” Sansa said. Jon reached out and put a hand on Ethan’s head, guiding the boy towards him.

 

“Alright, alright,” Jon did his best to calm everyone. “Perhaps…” he looked to Robb and then to his wife, who looked as if she becoming just as upset as their sons. “Perhaps the Snow family can go do something on our own for a bit of time? Just to get away from everyone?”

 

“That sounds perfect,” Catelyn agreed, Hoster having quieted down once again and it seemed as if Robbie was nearing the end of his breakdown as well.

 

“A picnic,” Winnie suggested. “Sansa, you can take a picnic in the Godswood and perhaps have a bit of a swim in the hot springs?”

 

“What do you think of that?” Sansa looked down to Ethan and then to Robbie, whose hot and wet little face was still buried in the crook of her neck. “A picnic and a swim?”

 

“Del comes, too?” Ethan asked.

 

“Of course Del comes, too,” Jon smiled.

 

“I’ll go speak with the cook so she can put something together for you,” Catelyn said and then, passing Hoster off to Jon, she went to go do just that.

 

Robb sighed heavily. “I’m sorry,” he said to them all.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Jon said to him.

 

“Still, they are my people,” Robb continued to frown.

 

Sansa gave her brother a small smile. “There’s so few people in the whole of the Gift compared to just those in Winterfell. I have forgotten how many people that are always around in Winterfell and how those people love to gossip about everything and anything.”

 

“That’s Court,” Robb said with a roll of his eyes. He sighed heavily. “Still, this is your first visit and even your ram is miserable.”

 

“We’re not miserable,” Jon told him. “We’re just…”

 

“Savages from the Gift who are used to peace and quiet,” Sansa finished with a good-humored smile. Jon smiled, too, in complete agreement.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to those still reading this one and who wanted more chapters!


	10. Missing Queenscrown

…

 

“Papa.”

 

Jon scrunched his nose, but remained asleep – mostly.

 

Ethan smiled and then leaned in closer. “Papa,” he whispered right into his ear.

 

“Hmmm.” With his eyes still closed, Jon lifted a hand and put it right over Ethan’s face, making the boy laugh. A smile twitched Jon’s lips even as he pretended to still be completely asleep. “’s too early, Ethan,” Jon mumbled, rolling on his side towards the boy, keeping his hand over the boy’s face even as Ethan, still laughing, tried to get it off.

 

“Papa, the sun’s up,” Ethan informed him from behind his hand.

 

“Shhhh, no it’s not,” Jon argued despite being able to see the lightness of the room from behind his eyelids.

 

“Papa, you promised,” Ethan then said and Jon sighed, finally opening his eyes and moving his hand away to look at his oldest son; still just a boy, but already a mirror image of himself.

 

“I did promise, didn’t I?”

 

Ethan smiled and nodded his head quickly.

 

“Well, then-” Jon yawned. “-best get myself ready then.”

 

Ethan’s smile grew as he eagerly hopped down from the bed and Jon forced himself into a sitting position. It had been a late night with his wife the night before and his body still felt as if he could easily sleep for a few more hours, but Ethan was right. Jon had promised and Jon was not in the habit of breaking promises he made to his sons.

 

Once Jon sent Ethan on his way so a maid could help him get dressed, though Ethan insisted, as always, that he could get dressed without help, Jon closed the door behind him and then took a moment to relieve himself in the chamber pot. He then stepped into the private solar attached to the chamber that was once Sansa’s when she was still a girl, living here in Winterfell. His eyes immediately landed on his wife as she sat on the bench at the window, looking out as Hoster fed from her breast.

 

She turned when she heard him enter and they shared a smile.

 

“I told him not to wake you _too_ early,” she said.

 

Jon just smiled and crossed the room to her. He first bent down to kiss Hoster on his head, the baby not even seeming to notice his father as he continued suckling – few things were able to distract their youngest son from his meals – and Sansa then tipped her head up, Jon dropping a kiss to her lips.

 

“He’s right. I made him a promise and the morning can’t be wasted.”

 

Sansa smiled again, but it broke into a slight wince. “Don’t pinch,” she told Hoster as he kept feeding.

 

Jon kissed her on the head and sat down next to her, watching their son for a moment. “Did you sleep alright?” He asked, lifting his eyes to her. There were slight circles beneath her own eyes and he lifted a thumb to brush across one. Sansa closed her eyes at his gentle touch and tilted her head into his hand. Jon kept it there for her.

 

“I could have slept longer as well,” she admitted and her eyes fluttered open once more. “Last night was lovely,” she then said.

 

He smiled and after another sweep of his thumb across her skin, his hand slowly fell away. “Just lovely?”

 

Sansa rolled her eyes and Jon’s face split into a grin.

 

He watched his wife and son for a few minutes, knowing that he needed to get ready and that Ethan would be bursting in here again probably quite soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from the scene. Sansa looked down to Hoster with the faintest smile and then lifting her head, her eyes drifted out to the window again. A soft sigh escaped her and Jon waited for her to speak; something obviously on her mind.

 

“I love Winterfell. I always will love Winterfell. But I’m so eager to return to our home,” she confessed.

 

“I am as well.”

 

Sansa sighed again. “This visit… it’s made me wonder. Have I changed so much since I left here to go marry you and live in the Gift? Why does court life here disgust me so much now when I can’t remember it disgusting me before? Was I so awful when I lived here just like all of the others in court?”

 

“You were never awful,” Jon made sure to instantly refute that. He moved as close to her as he could without disturbing Hoster. If he was stopped from eating when he wasn’t ready to, the cries rising from him could be practically ear-splitting. Jon put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “You were beautiful and bright and proper,” he told her.

 

Sansa looked at him, her lips twitching in a smile. “Proper?” She echoed.

 

“ _So_ proper. You intimidated me just because I knew you had grown up, eating with forks and I had only begun eating with them myself a month before we met. I was certain I was going to make such a fool of myself in front of you and you would demand to your brother that he take you home to Winterfell.”

 

“Because I ate with a fork?”

 

“Because you were _you_ and the moment I saw you, I knew I had never met anyone like you before. Far too good for the likes of me. You were also sweet and kind and everyone in the Gift fell in love with you the moment they met you. Myself included.”

 

Sansa’s cheeks darkened at that and Jon tightened his arm around her.

 

“And as everyone likes to remind us, the Gift is filled with nothing, but savages and wildings and do you think they would willingly love someone from further South if that person didn’t earn it?”

 

Sansa paused at that, thinking it over, and shook her head. “I love our home,” she said. “I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Not even here in Winterfell.”

 

“Well, good thing then that we’ll be heading back home in a few more days.”

 

She smiled and tilted her chin up slightly, Jon receiving her signal and kissing her.

 

Hoster pulled his head back, contently full now, and as Sansa righted her nightgown once more, Jon stood up with Hoster, grabbing a cloth to toss over his shoulder before walking the room as he gently burped his son.

 

“I know Ethan is very excited for today, but if you could make sure our oldest doesn’t get speared by a wild boar, I would be most appreciative.”

 

“I make no promises,” Jon threw her a grin and Sansa smiled as well, standing up, unable to bite back a yawn. Hoster burped and Jon brought him back so he could wipe at the baby’s mouth. “Would your mother or Winnie be able to watch the other two today?” He asked.

 

“And what will I be doing?”

 

“Napping.”

 

“Jon, I can’t nap. Mother has already watched the boys _too_ much and she’s going to think I’m a slug!”

 

“I doubt that, but I also believe your mother, who had five children, would understand the need for naps.”

 

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t decided that we should do particular things last night, I wouldn’t be so tired.”

 

It was a ridiculous thing to snap – especially since she loved those particular things – but she _was_ tired and she had a bad habit of being a bit crabby and taking it out on Jon when she was tired.

 

Jon knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help, but smirk a little. “Particular things?”

 

Sansa rolled her eyes and came to take Hoster back into her arms. She opened her mouth to give a retort to that, but the door to their chamber opened with a bang and a moment later, Ethan – dressed now for the day – came racing into the room with Robbie, still in his night shirt, behind him.

 

“I’m ready!” Ethan exclaimed with excitement.

 

“I want to go!” Robbie then frowned with a stamp of his foot.

 

“You must stay here with me today, my love,” Sansa said, reaching a hand out to rest on his head.

 

“I still have to get dressed and then we must break our fast,” Jon said to Ethan.

 

“Papa, please let me come,” Robbie said, now frowning up to Jon.

 

Jon shook his head and then said the words he knew Robbie truly hated to hear, but they had to be said.

 

“I’m sorry, Robbie. You’re not old enough.”

 

Robbie’s frown grew even deeper at that and then with another stamp of foot, he turned and threw himself down onto the cushion of the window bench, crying into it.

 

“You’re only proving their point,” Ethan frowned at his brother, but Robbie kept throwing his tantrum.

 

“Ethan, your father and I must both get dressed. Could you please take Hoster?” Sansa asked and Ethan was already nodding his head before she could even fully complete her request. She smiled and carefully handed him the now five-month-old, Ethan cradling him with a practiced hold. “And will you stay here, in the solar, and look after both of your brothers? We won’t be long.”

 

Ethan’s chest puffed out. First, he was going on his first hunt today and now, he was in charge of looking after his brothers – just him – like a right and proper oldest son.

 

“Take your time,” he said with all of the maturity he had and made both Jon and Sansa smile.

 

Back in their chamber with the door closed, Sansa went to the wardrobe to choose a dress for that day, taking far longer in making the decision considering she had nothing special planned that day except look after Hoster, make sure Robbie didn’t throw too bad of a temper tantrum for being left behind once Jon and Ethan left and spend time with her mother and Winnie.

 

“Shall I call Nora for you?” Jon offered, already half-dressed himself.

 

Sansa shook her head and kept looking over her dresses. They had been here for a month now, visiting her family and her family home, but she woke up this morning to the hungry cries of Hoster after a night of making love to Jon. Her eyes opened and for one moment, she completely forgot where she was. She thought she was in their Keep in Queenscrown and for that split second – before her brain woke fully to correct her – she had been so happy to be back home.

 

But then she realized she was still in Winterfell and she felt disappointed; and then she felt guilty for being disappointed. She was happy to visit her brother, his wife and her mother in Winterfell. She _loved_ them and this place and she missed them all while she lived so far North, away from most civilization. But their visit had been long and good – for the most part – and Sansa was ready to go back home.

 

Home to Queenscrown in the Gift.

 

Jon’s warm arms came around her from behind and Sansa closed her eyes, leaning back against his firm body.

 

His lips brushed along her ear. “It might help to think of it this way,” Jon said and Sansa didn’t wonder how he knew what thoughts made her mind heavy. Of course he already knew. Sansa wondered if he was sick for their home as well. “We have just one boar hunt and one parting feast before we’re on our way home again.”

 

Sansa closed her eyes at that and rested the back of her head against Jon’s shoulder. “Home,” she sighed as if she had never heard a better word than that and Jon pressed a kiss to her temple and left his lips to rest there.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this one will have just one more chapter. THANK YOU to everyone for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. I absolutely love this world and it means so much to know that others love it, too. Thank you!


	11. A Happy Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to those who have read this story as well as _All My Days_ before it. This story didn't necessarily have a point - just looking at Jon and Sansa as Lord and Lady of the Gift - but writing it made me happy and I hope reading it has made you happy as well. THANK YOU!

…

 

When Arya Stark of Winterfell, Princess of the North, first child to King Robb and Queen Wynafryd was born, every Keep and town in the North rang their bells all day in celebration. The bell at Queenscrown used to only be rung in alert of a Wilding attack or raid, but now, it rang out joyously so all knew the North had the Princess they had all waited so long for.

 

Robb promptly ordered a feast as well as a tournament of games in celebration; the extravagant merriment to stretch on for an entire week. Robb and Winnie had waited so long for a child and heir – as had all of the North – and now that Arya was here, Robb felt like the festivities couldn’t go on long enough.

 

Jon and Sansa would be going to Winterfell, of course, and bring their sons with them so they could all meet their niece and cousin. Even Jeyne was going to be coming – she, Lenyl and their daughters (two now: Beth and Rosie) coming to Queenscrown first so they could all travel to Winterfell together. In her letter to Sansa, Jeyne had said that Lenyl claimed his skin was already itching at the thought of going so far South as Winterfell was, to which Jeyne had promptly told her husband to not come or shut up about it if he did. Sansa had laughed when she read that in her dear friend’s letter.

 

Sansa was excited to visit Winterfell once more – having not been there since Hoster was a babe – and the boys were excited to see the Stark family home again and they were all eager to meet Arya (and they would only be staying two weeks this time so threats of homesickness weren’t as great as they had been last visit).

 

“Go, Del!” Jory shouted from up on the balcony, at his mother’s side, watching Jon and Del – now nearly a man himself – spar together with their swords down in the training yard.

 

Jon would be competing in the sword tournament and Del would be competing as well. Over the past few years as Jon’s page, the boy turned young man would accompany Jon whenever Jon decided to compete in a tournament somewhere in the North or in Westeros and this tournament at Winterfell would be Del’s first where he would be competing himself.

 

Sansa laughed and looked down to the two, almost three, year-old. “You are not cheering for papa?” Sansa asked him, her eyes bright.

 

“No,” Jory shook his head, his answer simple, and Sansa laughed again.

 

Jon and Del fought for a few minutes more, it ending with Jon able to get his sword to Del’s throat. Both were left panting and sweating and Jon threw an arm around Del’s neck, bringing him into his side for a hug, Sansa able to see the pride on her husband’s face for his page all the way from the balcony.

 

“Mama!”

 

Sansa turned her head towards the archery targets and she smiled when she saw Hoster waving at her, holding his bow and clearly not paying attention to his training. Sansa smiled and waved as well. Robbie stood at his brother’s side, his bow’s string pulled back, his concentration on the target ten yards away. The children usually learned to hit the target from five yards away, but it was quickly seen that Robbie had a talent for the bow and arrow and the distances were greater for him than the others.

 

Sansa watched as Robbie kept his arm steady for another moment more before he released, the arrow sailing through the air and landing in the target with a sound _thunk_ , it landing just outside the bullseye. She knew Robbie wouldn’t like that at all, but for just a boy of near-nine, it was an amazing accomplishment that shouldn’t be diminished. She didn’t think even Jon could hit the target as consistently as Robbie always did.

 

“Good job, Robbie!” Sansa called out to him now, unable to help herself, but already sensing his displeasure and Jory cheered for his brother as well.

 

Sure enough though, Robbie frowned and stalked to the target to retrieve his arrow.

 

“Robbie!” Sansa called again and this time, her son turned to look up to her. She beckoned him to come up and with a nod, he went to go put his things away.

 

“Can I come, too, mama?” Hoster called up.

 

Hoster didn’t have the patience for training. He knew he must because it was what boys did and also, it was what sons of the great former war-General Jon Snow did, but that didn’t mean that it was what Hoster preferred doing with his time. No. Since Hoster learned to read, he preferred doing just that, reading all of the books he was able to, and working towards reading those which were far more difficult. Ethan had already said that while Robbie grew to help protect the Gift, Hoster would grow to help Ethan run the Gift.

 

She gave him a nod and then looked back to Jon and Del and found that Jon was looking up to her.

 

He gave her a smile; one she easily returned, feeling the tug in her stomach that she still felt when their eyes met; even after all of these years as husband and wife. She could still remember that carriage ride with her mother to the Gift, to meet her soon-to-be husband, a man she didn’t know and had never seen; the only words to describe him from her brother of “He’s pretty” for her to cling to. She had allowed herself to hope that perhaps, she would find some sense of contentment with her new life.

 

How amazing it still was to her just how happy she was.

 

“Come along, Jory. It’s getting colder and I don’t want you to lose any of your toes,” Sansa said.

 

Jory giggled at that before turning and running back inside, Sansa following him and making sure the door was firmly closed behind them. In hers and Jon’s chamber, the fire was roaring, keeping the room warm and cozy. Ghost was there – having been out in the training yard, but had come in for a nap – and he currently snored at Ethan’s feet. Sansa wasn’t fooled though by the direwolf. His eyes may have been closed and he may have been sleeping, but his ears were always open and listening.

 

“How are you doing?” She asked.

 

Ethan didn’t lift his head, but he shook it and sighed heavily. “I hate this.”

 

“Your father will come soon to help you,” Sansa promised as she went to the cradle nearby. “He will tell you of how long it took him to be able to manage the accounting ledgers without much aid.”

 

Hers and Jon’s youngest son – their fifth, and last, child – Garrick was still asleep though she could see that his nose was beginning to scrunch, a sign to her that he would be waking soon. Sansa knelt down beside the cradle, running light fingers through his fine, red hair. Of their sons, they all had the curls of their father; Ethan, Robbie and Jory’s were black while Hoster and Garrick had the red of their mother.

 

Sansa thought she and Jon had made five very handsome sons, if she did say so herself.

 

Dorren was sleeping on the bed and when she entered, he opened his eyes, but kept his head down. Sansa smiled and went to him next. He was getting older – she didn’t want to think about it just as Jon didn’t want to think of Ghost getting up there in years – and would not be making this journey to Winterfell with them. Sansa knew he would want to go with her, but Sansa thought he would be much more comfortable, here at home. She still remembered the way Court had acted when they saw him walking through the Hall or into the chambers.

 

They may not have been able to communicate with one another, but Sansa still knew her ram and he would be much happier here even though they would both miss the other during their time apart.

 

Ethan sighed again from behind her and Sansa turned towards him. Ethan was on the bear rug in front of the fire, lying on his stomach with his quill and his practice book of accounts open in front of him. Jory had joined him, playing with some of his building blocks – his favorite of his toys. Sansa came and sat down beside Ethan to look over his work.

 

“Would you like me to help?” She asked.

 

Ethan shook his head. “I need to learn to do it by myself.”

 

“You sound just like your father,” Sansa smiled and that made Ethan smile as well.

 

The door to the chamber opened and Hoster came running in, followed by a still-sullen looking Robbie. Hoster ran right for Sansa, throwing himself on her, and though he almost knocked her onto her back, Sansa laughed and smiled and hugged him tight. Her sons were always more than welcome to knock her over.

 

She then looked to Robbie and with a smile, she held out her arm. She knew Robbie would think himself to be too old to get hugs and comfort from his mother, but sometimes, it was exactly what he wanted. Without a word, he came and dropped himself next to her on the rug, Sansa putting her arm around him and holding him close as Hoster crawled off her lap to lay on his stomach next to Ethan.

 

“I can help,” Hoster told his oldest brother with confidence. Besides his letters, despite his young age, Hoster had also proven himself to have a mind for numbers.

 

“I have to learn to do it by myself,” Ethan now told him. “When we’re older, I’ll let you do them, but what if something happens to you? I’ll need to know, too.”

 

“What’s going to happen to me?” Hoster asked with his youthful innocence.

 

“Nothing,” Robbie was the one to answer with confidence.

 

Sansa squeezed her arm and kissed him on the head. “You know,” she said quietly. “ _I_ wouldn’t be able to shoot an arrow anywhere near a bullseye from that many feet away.”

 

“Of course you wouldn’t be able to, mama,” Robbie said, still with a frown. “You’re a girl.”

 

Sansa almost let out a laugh from surprise at his response. How amazed he would have been with his Aunt Arya. 

 

“Don’t let that fool you, Robbie.”

 

All of their heads turned to see Jon now in the doorway. Jory pushed himself to his feet to hurry to him and Jon grinned, leaning down so the little boy could run right into his arms and Jon could swoop him up.

 

“There are many things your mama can do that _I_ can’t do,” Jon continued, coming into the chamber to join them on the rug in front of the fire.

 

“Giving birth to babes doesn’t count, papa,” Robbie frowned.

 

This time, Sansa did laugh and Jon smirked a bit, shaking his head, as he settled himself down on the floor with them, settling Jory in his lap, but Jory was too impatient to sit still for any amount of time and he climbed off almost immediately to return to his building blocks.

 

“I need to speak with Maester Tarly,” Jon commented to Sansa. “He’s making our sons far too smart.”

 

Sansa smiled at him and Jon looked at her, his eyes trained on hers. He lifted a hand to her cheek and his fingers brushed along the line of her jaw, making her nearly shiver despite the closeness they sat to the fire.

 

“Yuck,” Robbie shook his head and pulled himself away from Sansa so he could lay on his stomach on the other side of Ethan. All of the Snow boys were used to seeing their parents’ open displays of affection towards one another, but that didn’t necessarily mean they liked seeing them.

 

“Yuck,” Jon echoed and Sansa giggled as if she was a girl still in her youth, noticing her first boy.

 

Garrick, sure enough, woke up soon after – just as Sansa knew he would – and she was closest to the cradle. She lifted him up into her arms, the babe nearly immediately quieting down without making much noise at all. Of all of their sons, Garrick was definitely proving to be their quietest; most calm. At first, Jon was admittedly worried at their son’s lack of crying and making fusses.

 

“After four previous babes, you think you would be grateful,” Davos had said with a chuckle after Jon voiced it. Sansa had to agree with their loyal, trusted advisor.

 

Sansa looked down to the babe in her arms and began singing a soft song for him. His eyes were open and alert and Sansa knew he was truly awake now, but she sang for him; sang for all of her Snow boys. Jon moved closer to her, putting an arm around the small of her back, and Sansa turned her head to smile at him as she sang. Jon smiled, too, and leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of her jaw before looking down to Garrick.

 

At the sound of his mother singing, Dorren pulled himself down from the bed to join his family on the rug and he dropped himself into a heavy heap. Garrick turned his head and seeing the ram, he reached a tiny hand out for him. Sansa smiled and adjusting herself and Garrick, she guided the baby’s hand on Dorren’s coat. Dorren lifted his head to look and, seeing that little Lord wanted to pet him, Dorren forced himself up again before dropping himself down closer this time. Sansa guided Garrick’s hand over his wool and Dorren fell back asleep.

 

“You forgot to carry the one,” Hoster pointed out to the figures Ethan was working on.

 

Ethan paused and looked to what he was talking about and seeing his mistake, he muttered something under his breath; careful that he didn’t use a bad word in front of his parents.

 

“I often forget to carry the one, too,” Jon said.

 

“Doesn’t Uncle Robb have someone who does the accounts for him?” Ethan asked, lifting his head to look to Jon. “Why can’t we have someone who can do ours?”

 

“Because Queenscrown and the Gift is _much_ smaller. And your Uncle has the whole North to balance. You only have our lands,” Jon answered. “I would gladly forget to carry the one in our ledgers than having to deal with all of the numbers that come across the King’s desk.”

 

Ethan thought that over. “I suppose,” he then agreed – somewhat reluctantly – before returning to his work.

 

Sansa resumed singing quietly as she guided Garrick’s hand over and over in a petting motion over Dorren and Jory stood up as well, coming towards the ram, losing his balance and nearly falling right on top of him. Dorren didn’t even stir though, used to one of his mother’s son or another falling on him.

 

Feeling eyes on her – her husband’s eyes – Sansa turned to look at him, still singing, and Jon was watching her with that intensity he so often looked at her with, his lips lifting in a small smile when her eyes met his. Sansa’s song faded off and she smiled, too.

 

Jon leaned in, his hand cupping the back of her head, and this time, he kissed Sansa on the lips.

 

“I love you with my whole heart,” she then whispered to him.

 

“And I love you with mine,” Jon’s response was nearly immediately after.

 

Sansa smiled and Jon rested his forehead to hers.

 

“Yuck!” Jory then exclaimed, obviously mimicking his brothers, and then peeled into giggles.

 

It made Ethan, Robbie and Hoster all begin laughing, too, which only made Jory laugh harder. Ghost stood up, shaking himself off, and left the room to go find a quieter place to sleep and Dorren soon followed after him. Both animals loved their human family, but sometimes, they just needed quiet for their naps and the five little Lords weren’t exactly that.

 

As their sons laughed and Jory kept shouting “Yuck” so he could keep making his brothers laugh, Jon and Sansa simply kept their foreheads together and looking into one another’s eyes, they shared a happy smile.

 

…

 

The End. 

 


End file.
